


Tag, You're It!

by Kitmistry



Series: The H Files [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Castiel (Supernatural), FBI Agent Dean Winchester, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced Prositution, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23891659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitmistry/pseuds/Kitmistry
Summary: Five months after the case that almost claimed their lives, what started as blowing off some steam during a high-pressure situation and continued as a mutually-beneficial arrangement is getting out of Special Agent Castiel Novak’s control. Falling in love with his partner is doomed to end in disaster, especially when said partner is Special Agent Dean Winchester—cocky, infuriating, and the biggest playboy Castiel has ever met.Still on medical leave, Dean is bored out of his mind, and worst of all - once Castiel gets sucked into the investigation of a new case - without enough distractions from his inner demons. When he stumbles upon a small, seemingly risk-free case, Dean jumps at the chance to get involved, but the lies he has to tell could be catastrophic for the already shaky foundations of his relationship with Castiel.With a new threat trying to take over the underworld of DC, Castiel and Dean have to find a way to work past their problems or risk losing each other forever.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/OMC
Series: The H Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731331
Comments: 56
Kudos: 138





	1. Missed me?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it took me almost a year to start writing this, but I'm really excited to work on this story now that I have free time. This is a sequel to my Harlequin fic from last year, Hide and Seek, and though I do recommend reading it, it's not necessary. A big thank you to [mrs.hays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrshays/works) for being my beta!

The stairs creaked and groaned under Castiel Novak’s feet as he climbed to the third floor of his apartment building. It’d been seven months since he moved to DC—five since being allowed back out in the field to investigate the Tri-State Murders up in New York—and by now he was long since used to living in a building with no elevator. He didn’t mind the stairs much most days, but today he was weighed down by a heavy box with files and notes on the new case his team had been assigned. Having to also balance his laptop case along with the box didn’t help, but he had no other choice but to keep climbing.

He sighed a breath of relief when he finally reached his floor and made his way past the other apartments towards the last door. He needed to go through all the files he was carrying, but first, he'd take a shower, maybe scramble something together for dinner; it was going to be a long night.

He would have to call Dean and tell him he wasn't coming over tonight, he thought as he placed everything on the cheap vinyl floor and searched through the side pocket of his laptop case for his keys. It'd be one of the rare nights they didn't spend together since they'd returned and Dean’s brother had left to go back to California. Castiel hadn’t slept in his own apartment in a month. It’d be hard to sleep after getting used to Dean’s body heat next to him, but there was work to be done, and Castiel had to suck it up and do his job.

Fingers closing around his keys, he pushed himself up, before moving to unlock his door, only for it to open without the key turning. It was unlocked.

Castiel froze. In an instant, he had his gun in his hand, glad that he always kept his shoulder holster on until he reached his apartment. With a gentle push of his foot, the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. 

The apartment was dark, but Castiel’s senses were on high alert, picking up on the faintest of sounds. There was his breathing, faster than normal but still controlled, and his heartbeat, steady inside his ribcage, and there was the sound of his footfalls as he stepped inside. He detected no other movement. His eyes fell on the dark shape of something fallen on the floor. Something like a towel. It hadn't been there when he’d left for work that morning. 

A chill ran through him. Someone had been inside his apartment. Maybe still was.

A floorboard creaked to his left. 

Castiel spun around, the hand holding the gun turning to follow the sound, but something solid hit him with enough force to pin him to the wall by the door, face pressed against the hard surface. Castiel’s breath got caught in his throat. There was someone pressed behind him, an arm pushing him into the wall, stopping him from using his gun. Then a hand slid around Castiel’s middle, moving lower to cup his dick through his pants and squeeze.

“Missed me?”

All the fight left Castiel with a long exhale, as Dean’s breath tickled the skin behind his ear. “Jesus Christ, Dean. I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t,” Dean pointed out, sounding every bit as smug as Castiel knew he felt. 

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked.

A hand on Castiel’s shoulder, Dean stepped away and turned him around, pushing him rouhgly against the wall. Dean was gone long enough for the door next to them to be shut, then his hands came to rest on either side of Castiel’s head, palms flat against the wall, caging him in, as Dean leaned down to breathe against his lips: “I missed you.” 

A quick peck and Dean dropped to his knees without a warning. 

Nimble fingers worked Castiel’s belt open in a matter of seconds, before reaching to undo the button and zipper of his pants. Though his mind wasn't as quick to go from fight or flight to fucking, Castiel's dick had no problem keeping up. It was already twitching with interest, responding to Dean in the same desperate way it always did, the same fire burning through his veins, not in the least satiated by the last few months they'd spent fucking on every available surface of their apartments. His pants dropped to pool around his ankles, the cool air making goosebumbs run up his thighs.

It was difficult to tell in the dark, but from the way Dean pressed a palm against his own cock, hips thrusting up, it was safe to say he was already hard and ready to go, too, probably had been since before Castiel had arrived. He looked up at Castiel from under his lashes, tongue darting out to lick his full lips like he was asking for permission, and Castiel swallowed, pressing his palms flat against the wall, half-hard dick tenting his underwear through his open zip. Without waiting for any other sign, Dean shoved Castiel’s boxer briefs out of the way and swallowed him down in one go. 

Castiel groaned, knees almost giving out, a hand darting to grab onto Dean’s shoulder for support as he fought to remain standing. Blood rushed to his cock, leaving him lightheaded and shaking, everything but the wet heat around him fading away. He held onto Dean, fingers digging in and fighting against every instinct that wanted to thrust forward into Dean's eager mouth. 

Dean hummed, a hand resting on Castiel's inner thigh, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over the skin there even as he pulled back, a string of spit and precome still connecting the tip of Castiel's dick and his lips. Castiel groaned at the sight. Tongue darting out quickly, Dean dove back in, mouthing at his ball, he used his hand to jerk Castiel in a slow, torturous rhythm as the last of Castiel's coherent thoughts fizzled out.

Locking eyes with Castiel, Dean licked his way back up, lips stretching into a playful smirk that was begging for Castiel to wipe it off his face before closing around the head of his cock.

Castiel was still trembling, eyes locked to where Dean's sinful lips were wrapped around him, where he could feel Dean’s tongue pressing against the slit. Slowly Dean bobbed his head, taking him deeper every time until all of Castiel was buried inside him. Hands skimmed up the back of his thighs before they reached their destination. The touch of fingers turned to a press, a squeeze, as Dean gripped Castiel's ass to the point of almost pain. Humming, he pulled Castiel even closer, nose pressed against his groin, before swallowing around him.

Castiel moaned, heat gathering low at his spine. His hand fell away from Dean’s shoulder, came to grab at his hair instead, holding him there as he took the control Dean offered. He ached for more, ached to touch and be touched, but his breath kept coming out faster, his hips jerking forward, chasing that sweet moment of release inside Dean, and God, just thinking about that made his pulse drum in his ears, and he was so close. So _close_.

Dean pulled away, cock falling out of his mouth. "Not yet," he said, voice rough, and Castiel was too busy watching his lips moving, red and slick, to realize the meaning of his words. 

Dean was back on his feet, hands roaming Castiel's body, undoing buttons randomly, shoving his trench coat off his shoulders, before changing his mind and starting to fumble with his own clothes instead.

Finally catching up with what was happening, Castiel shed his coat and yanked his loosened tie over his head. He grabbed Dean from the back of the neck and pulled him forward into a filthy, hurried kiss. He tried to take a step closer, press himself against Dean’s hard body, forgetting about his feet still tangled in his pants. 

Firm hands grabbed him as he stumbled forward into Dean’s chest. Castiel could feel Dean’s body vibrating with a chuckle where they were pressed chest-to-chest. 

“Eager much?” 

He helped Castiel out of his shoes and pants, before kissing him again, their rhythm more urgent now, hands more hasty as they shed their clothes on the floor. The path was straight from the front door to Castiel's bedroom, a dozen or so steps ahead. He had Dean's mouth on his and Dean's hands sliding up and down his sides, mind foggy around the edges with arousal already. His gun was long forgotten, dropped by the door amidst a pile of his coat, holster, and shirt. He'd curse at himself for that slip of his later, but at that moment there was nothing but Dean, and his gorgeous cock rubbing against Castiel’s thigh, and a bed with fresh sheets waiting to be ruined.

Dean smiled into their kiss, pulling back to grin at him. “I promise next time I won't attack you,” he said, voice low, but his words had the opposite effect to what Dean had probably intended.

Castiel could feel him rutting against his thigh, but some of the haze cleared. Dean was insatiable. Every opportunity he could find to get Castiel horizontal was never wasted, and usually, Castiel wouldn't complain. He was too addicted to ever say no, but today Dean had crossed an unspoken line between them. He knew exactly how Castiel would react to an intruder in his space and he'd staged it to look like someone had broken into his apartment on purpose. They'd have to have a long and serious talk about that.

He took a step back, not missing the way Dean's body leaned to follow him. Castiel let his eyes roam over the glorious sight in front of him: strong bowed legs, a narrow waist and broad chest that made Castiel want to run his hands over the freckled skin all night long until he had all the scars and contours of Dean's body memorized. Dean's newest scar was easy to tell apart from the others, the skin still red and raised where the bullet had hit his shoulder. Dipping to press his lips over the still tender skin there, Castiel made the conscious choice to leave this talk for later. It wasn't like he would be able to make Dean focus while he was thinking with his lower head. Castiel could wait for a few minutes to make sure his message got across.

His dick, on the other hand, couldn't. It took all of his restraint to stay away from Dean, to let lips hover just inches away from Dean’s mouth. He could see Dean’s pupils grow to swallow almost all of the brilliant green around them, could feel Dean's breath in hot puffs against his face.

“You're right,” Castiel breathed, a palm flat on Dean's chest, guiding him towards the bed. “Next time you'll be waiting for me on your knees, naked.”

It took very little strength to send Dean falling back into his bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. A cheeky grin was splitting his face in half. “Or else?”

“Or else…” Castiel trailed off, straddling Dean's thighs but not letting their cocks touch. He nosed Dean's face to the side until he got access to his neck, tongue tracing a path over his pulse point before he gave in to his instincts and sucked on the soft skin there. It would leave a mark, but Dean wasn't back in the office yet, so it didn't matter much. Feeling Dean trying to rock up against him, Castiel slid his fingers through his short hair, yanking his head back. “Or else I'll tie you to my bed and make you watch while I get off by myself.”

Dean took a sharp breath, eyes falling from Castiel's face to his cock, flushed and heavy between them. He licked his lips. “I could be down for that.”

The words went straight to Castiel's groin. “Enough teasing,” he growled, letting himself sink down. Lips met again, bodies fitting together with practiced ease as they slid and rocked against each other, gasping into each other's mouths.

A hand wrapped around Castiel's waist, holding tight, and suddenly the world spun around, and Castiel found himself on the mattress. Dean was above him now, on top of him, around him. He guided them together, sucked Castiel's lower lip between his teeth, making him buck up uncontrollably. 

He wanted Dean, burned all the way inside for him with a need he'd never felt before. It scared him, but Castiel was helpless. He had no choice but to surrender to Dean, let himself be twisted around, and pressed into the mattress. His aching dick twitched, hips jerking down to seek friction on the blankets while at the same time he arched his back against Dean behind him. Cold air hit his skin for a second, his bedside drawer rattled open and closed, then lube and a pack of condoms fell next to his head. Dean was behind him again, slick fingers hastily working their way inside Castiel’s hole before they were replaced by the head of his cock.

Castiel hissed against the burning stretch, willing himself to relax. He could feel Dean pushing deeper and deeper, could feel the heat coiling deep in his belly. He rocked back, until he met Dean's hips, heard the slight gasp.

With a gentle hand on his hip, Dean laid on top of him, pressing wet kisses down the back of his neck. His thrusts became stronger. He rolled his hips, again and again, fucking Castiel slow and hard, as if he was savoring the moment, intent on drawing this out like they were, they were… shit, Castiel didn't have enough functioning brain cells left to follow that trail of thought, and he shouldn't, anyway, for it was dangerous and—

Dean changed the angle, pounding into Castiel with renewed vigor, stopping any thought that tried to stray too far away from the way their bodies moved together, the way his cock filled Castiel so completely, so perfectly.

Castiel was shaking. Toes curling, he pushed his legs further apart to make more room for Dean, putting his elbows under him to find purchase and press back, guide Dean to pick up the pace. There was tension twisting in his gut, something hot running through his veins, and he needed more. 

“Dean, I—shit,” he moaned, fingers twisting into the sheet.

“Yeah, I got you, babe,” Dean panted, hips snapping forward faster. The wet sound of heated skin hitting skin had filled the room, their musky scents combined heavy in the air, making Castiel dizzy. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Castiel gasped, as a thrust punched the air out of him. “I want you.”

“Fuck, Cas.” He pulled out, letting Castiel's rim stretch over his head before pushing all the way back inside. “Do you want my dick? Do you want me to fuck you until you can't walk?”

“Yes.” Back arching, Castiel moaned with Dean's next thrust.

Dean had a hand on his hip, fingers digging bruises into skin, and his other hand slid around Castiel’s neck, pulling his head back. His lips brushed against Castiel's ear, his rhythm never slowing down. “Say it,” he commanded.

“Jesus. Fuck, Dean. I want your cock. I want to feel you coming inside me.”

“God, Cas,” Dean gasped, thrusts becoming faster and uncoordinated, his rhythm relentless. He pushed a hand between the mattress and Castiel's body, finding his dick, but there was not much he could do except squeeze.

Feeling the last of his control slip away, Castiel rutted forward, fucking Dean's fist desperately. He was so full, so full and so close to bursting. All it took was Dean's teeth closing around his shoulder, biting down while his dick pulsed inside Castiel. With Dean’s cock still twitching inside him and Dean's hand jerking him properly now, Castiel tipped over the edge, spilling over Dean's fingers and the sheets. 

***

“So what are you really doing here, Dean?”

Castiel threw the dirty sheets on the floor, quickly grabbing a fresh pair to make his bed.

“I was bored,” Dean called from the bathroom, where he’d retreated to dispose of the condom soon after they’d finished. There was the sound of the toilet flushing followed by running water before Dean appeared at the doorway again, still naked. “I knew you’d come home late and forget to eat, so I figured why not kill two birds with one stone and come over for dinner?”

Castiel looked up from where he was tucking the edge of the sheet under the mattress. “There’s dinner?” He sniffed the air, but the only thing he could smell was sex. He’d have to open the window to air the room. 

“Best fried rice with chicken you’ve ever tried,” Dean promised, leaning against the door frame.

Castiel sighed. “Not that I don’t appreciate the food or the sex, but Dean, you broke into my house.”

“How else was I supposed to get in?” Dean asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

A few months ago it would have worked, but Castiel had spent enough time with Dean already to read his expressions. Dean thought this was _funny_. “Stop by the office and ask for my key? Call me?”

“That would ruin the surprise,” Dean pouted.

“I thought someone was robbing me,” Castiel complained, hands thrown open in an exasperated gesture. “Or worse.”

“Yeah, your stamp collection is every robber’s wet dream,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes at Castiel.

Feeling exhaustion wash over him, Castiel pressed two fingers against his eyelids. Dean knew exactly how important Castiel’s personal space was, and he’d violated that for a joke. He’d ambushed Castiel when he knew he was coming back home armed. They were both lucky they’d ended up in bed instead of the ER. Judging from the amused spark in Dean’s eyes, the thought of his plan going south hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

It seemed Dean was running on an adrenaline high ever since their last case. Being betrayed and almost killed by one of his best friends had sent him in a downward spiral of reckless behaviour instead of making him more cautious. It was the complete opposite of Castiel’s experience—where he’d become a nervous wreck after Uriel, and still had to fight with himself to control his worse impulses, Dean was constantly on the lookout for the next thrill. Usually, that involved Castiel stopping him from getting into trouble. He’d started to suspect that keeping the leash tight on his partner was a full-time job, and Assistant Director Singer had tricked him into accepting it. 

Yet, Castiel knew he couldn’t fault Dean for all that. This was his way of working through things, and if it was a bit unorthodox, Castiel just had to wait out the storm. Another two months and Dean would be back in the office. Hopefully, Dean would be back to normal by then, and he’d have a healthy outlet for all that pent up energy that didn't involve testing the blurred lines of what was an innocent prank for Castiel and what was a trigger.

Instead of addressing the knotted thoughts inside his head, Castiel gazed at Dean tiredly. “You went through my stuff?”

“Come on; it’s cute.” Dean grinned, crossing the room to throw a hand around Castiel’s shoulders. His dick bobbed around with every step he took, making it hard for Castiel to ignore how both of them were still very much naked and Castiel was sticky with dry come. “I can totally picture you as a tiny nerd: red bow tie, and bee socks, carrying around your stamp collection.”

“You found my bee socks, too?”

“You should have hidden them better,” Dean said, very seriously. “Why do you even have them by the way?”

“They were a gift,” Castiel said. It was just his luck that out of everything Dean could have found searching his apartment he found those socks. Why would he even go through Castiel’s sock drawer in the first place? 

Dean’s eyes glinted with interest at that information. “What, like from an ex?”

“My cousin, actually,” Castiel replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

Dean hummed, using his grip on Castiel to guide him out of the room. “I’d like to meet that cousin,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t even know you had one.”

Their conversation was turning dangerously personal, first with the talk about exes and now family members. Family wasn’t something they’d talked about before, other than the few stories they’d shared with each other while working on the Tri-State Murders case, and personal relationships seemed to be off-limits for both of them. Which was normal, Castiel guessed. You didn’t talk about your ex-girlfriend with your fuckbuddy. That’s what he and Dean were after all. Partners and fuckbuddies. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet Bal,” he said, pushing all those bitter thoughts to the back of his head. And he definitely didn’t want Bal meeting Dean. He’d never stop teasing Castiel after that. 

“We’ll see about that,” Dean said. “Now come on. Food’s gonna get cold.”

Getting closer to the kitchen meant he could now smell the dinner Dean had promised him, and his stomach growled in response. He hadn’t had anything to eat other than a sad sandwich he’d forgotten in his bag since the day before, and all of a sudden he was very grateful for Dean’s impulse decision. Though his skin was still covered in bodily fluids.

“I’m disgusting.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine, you go and clean up, I’ll set the table.” 

It was easy for Dean to act like that, the arrogant dick, since he hadn’t lain on top of the mess they’d made. Castiel, however, was willing to overlook that for the promise of warm food and good company on a night he’d thought he’d have to spend working—

Shit. His bag and papers were still forgotten outside. Tip-toeing around the mess of shed clothes they’d left on the floor, Castiel grabbed a blanket from the couch to wrap around his waist—he didn't want to scar one of his neighbors for life on accident—before opening the door and retrieving his things. He made sure to grab his gun, too, intent on returning it in its place inside his drawer after double-checking the safety was on and the magazine removed.

Dean was watching him, amusement playing behind his eyes. He was enjoying the mess he’d created in here immensely. 

Irritation flared inside Castiel. It was times like this he was reminded why he’d hated Dean the first time he’d ever met him. 

Retreating back to his bedroom to duck into the adjacent bathroom, Castiel scowled at him over his shoulder. “Put some clothes on.”

“Prude,” Dean teased, sticking his tongue out. He did follow after him to search for his underwear, though, Castiel noticed, satisfied before hopping into the shower.

***

They’d spent so much time together in the last months, that usually eating in silence didn’t bother Castiel in the slightest. Neither of the two was the sharing type, and even if Dean liked to fill the silence between them with silly stories and teasing comments, getting lost in his own thoughts wasn’t unusual either. Pushing his food around with his fork, Castiel gazed at Dean across the table. He was still bare-chested, a bottle of beer that Castiel couldn’t remember buying next to his plate.

Castiel sighed. His therapist always insisted it was better to share his thoughts than let them fester. 

“I feel weird.”

Dean turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m not putting on clothes just to eat. It’s not even that cold in here.”

“No, I mean coming home and having someone waiting, dinner ready,” Castiel explained, avoiding meeting Dean’s eyes. He did catch Dean's smirk from the corner of his eye, though.

“It’s very convenient, right? You’re welcome.” Dean tapped a finger against his chin, thinking that over for a moment. “Hey, does that make me your wife? Damn, I should have brought an apron with me, now that would be hot.”

Castiel almost choked on his food, hitting his chest with his fist to get his last bite unstuck from the back of his throat.

“Do you need some water, _dear_?” Dean asked, shit-eating grin begging Castiel to punch him. Or bend him over his counter and fuck him. Castiel wasn’t sure which of the two would happen if he let himself go for it.

He accepted the glass Dean was holding out, taking a sip to avoid having to answer. Dean was the biggest tease Castiel had ever met, and he thrived on watching Castiel squirm and flush, not caring in the least about how throwing those kind of comments around like they meant nothing bothered Castiel. Especially since to Castiel, they _didn’t_ mean nothing. The image of Dean in a pretty, lace-trimmed apron that was barely long enough to cover his dick—because obviously Dean was otherwise naked in the fantasy—was stuck in his head now, but it was far better than having the image of Dean holding his hand while they went grocery shopping, or kissing him goodbye when Castiel was leaving for work or a hundred different things real couples did. Sex was easy, falling for your off-limits partner wasn’t.

Digging into his dinner for another bite-sized piece of chicken, Dean looked completely clueless to Castiel’s inner thoughts and conflicting feelings. His eyes lit up when he found the hidden treasure under a hill of rice, sticking it into his mouth with a satisfied grin.

“So, how’s work?” Dean asked, still chewing.

Castiel swallowed, shrugging. “It was fine. The usual.”

Dean looked at him for a moment, searching his face. Then he leaned forward, dropping his hands on the table. “Come on, Cas. I’m going crazy here, give me something.”

“Dean, you’re on medical leave for a reason,” Castiel pointed out, squinting at him. They’d been over this before, and yet Dean loved to try over and over again, like maybe if he asked enough Castiel would finally give in. 

Too bad he was barking up the wrong tree.

“What, this?” Dean patted the offending shoulder, unfazed by Castiel’s refusal to answer. “I don’t even feel it. I’m almost finished with physical therapy, and I’ll be back in the office in a couple of months, anyway.”

“And what about counseling?”

“Awesome,” Dean was quick to declare. “Couldn’t be better. Certifiably ready to get out there and kick some ass.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Castiel said, mouth tightening.

“Cas, I promise you, I’m dealing,” Dean said, head held high, posture too nonchalant to be anything else but forced.

Castiel made sure to choose his next words carefully. It wasn’t a subject he broached often, and even more rarely got an answer. “You went through something horrible. It’s okay if you need time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” Dean snapped. He gazed at Castiel, then exhaled, deflating. “I mean sure, the first two weeks were awesome. I got to rest and hang out with Sammy, but I can’t sit on my ass all day. It’s not who I am.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Singer seems to disagree.”

“Well, Bobby is an old man,” Dean said, a bit more defensive than he had to be. “I know my own limits. And if I can’t get back out there yet, then at least let me live through you. Tell me about the case. Let’s brainstorm together and shit.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t,” Castiel said. “You know I can’t. It’s confidential.”

Supporting his head on his fist, Dean went back to searching his plate for more chicken. “Yeah, yeah. A guy can hope, right?”

“You’ll be back out there before you know it,” Castiel said, trying to be sympathetic. 

“I’m just bored,” Dean admitted, still playing with his food. “Ever since Sammy left all I ever do is sleep, go to doctors’ appointments, watch crappy TV, and wait for you to come over and fuck my brains out.”

Castiel’s chest filled with amusement, and he had to bite down a smile. “How is it my fault you have a high libido?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining about the sex,” Dean said, pointing a finger in Castiel’s direction like he was scared Castiel might start playing hard to get—as if that would ever happen. “And it’s certainly not my fault I have extra energy to burn.”

Castiel grimaced. He could understand what Dean was going through to an extent. Castiel was a homebody, and he still needed to get out from time to time. Of course, someone like Dean, who was used to thriving on human contact, would start climbing the walls of his apartment after so many months of not getting any real action. Or getting out of the house for anything other than grocery shopping and mandatory therapy sessions.

“Look, you’re right,” Castiel said, dropping his fork on his plate to knit his fingers in front of him. “You’ve been cooped up too long. How about we go out for lunch tomorrow? Do something to shake things up.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, mouth twitching. “Wow, Cas. Don’t shake things up too much.”

For all of Dean’s big talk and cool persona, Castiel knew for a fact that Dean had had offers to go out with some of their colleagues and he’d refused them all. He wasn’t even sure if Dean had seen Singer since they’d been back in DC, and the man was like a father to him. Not that he’d admitted as much to Castiel. 

“Baby steps,” was the only thing Castiel said.

Cleaning and washing the dishes together after eating was something of a routine for the two of them by now. Even though Castiel’s kitchen was bigger than Dean’s, they still ended up pressed close together, working in companionable silence until everything was drying by the sink. Afterward, Dean dragged Castiel to the sofa, the television already connected to the laptop, and a movie ready to play. 

Dean had taken it upon himself to ‘educate’ Castiel on all things pop culture, as Dean himself often said. They were watching at least one movie Dean considered a classic every night, even though Castiel ended up falling asleep halfway through most of them. It wasn’t that they weren’t entertaining, but he was almost always exhausted, and lying on his couch with his feet on Dean’s lap was the most comfortable thing ever. Dean always complained endlessly about it, and Castiel promised to stay awake the next time. He never managed to.

And of course, again that night, Dean shook him awake to drag him to bed after the movie was over. Blearily, Castiel got up, shuffling after him and falling back asleep before he had even touched the bed. 

***

The blaring of his alarm clock jerked him awake. He fumbled for it on his nightstand, trying to untangle himself from Dean’s tentacle-like arms and reach for it. The blanket was bundled at their feet, where it always ended up when they were sleeping together. Castiel hated cuddling because it made him feel hot and sweaty, but Dean was like an insistent octopus, holding onto his Castiel-shaped treasure so firmly, Castiel rarely managed to free himself. Throwing the blanket off was a good compromise.

“Is it morning already?” Dean groaned, burying his nose in Castiel’s back.

“It’s morning for me,” Castiel said, pulling Dean’s hands from his waist. “You can still sleep if you want.”

Without complaining, Dean rolled over and promptly fell back asleep. He only stirred once, when Castiel closed his sock drawer harder than intended. Dean lifted his head off the pillow, squinting at him.

“Are you going running?” he asked, a dried river of drool on his chin. It shouldn’t be as adorable as Castiel thought it was.

“No, I’m trying to start a new trend of going to work in running shorts,” Castiel shot back, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his socks on.

Dean kicked him, hugging his pillow tighter. “Smartass,” he mumbled. “Just wake me up when you’re back, okay?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Hey, do you want to fool around in the shower or not? Because I don’t see it happening with that attitude,” Dean warned, glaring at him with half his face buried in the pillow.

Castiel chuckled, retrieving his earbuds from the nightstand. “As if you can say no.”

“One of these days I will,” Dean huffed.

Castiel gazed at him over his shoulder. His greatest fear was that Dean would make good on that promise.

***

“Novak, finally,” Jody Mills, their team leader, said, waving him over to the whiteboard they had set up in their office. It was just her and Max Banes when Castiel finally made it there. He’d been late to work in the end, Dean taking his time with Castiel in the shower, before allowing him to get dressed and leave.

All things considered, Castiel was really proud to have made it there as fast as he had and looking fairly presentable to boost. He hoped he didn’t look as fucked out as he felt. 

“Anything new?” he asked, hastily removing his trench coat.

“Another restaurant was torched last night,” Mills said. She retrieved a folder from a pile on her desk and threw it at him. “The police are already there, and we’ve sent Masters and Talbot to the crime scene to have a look. We’re not sure we’ll be taking over the investigation just yet, but we’re monitoring the situation and working with local authorities. The news is worrying.”

“Is that the third in a month?” Castiel asked, leafing through the couple of pages inside the folder. There wasn’t much information in there, but he hoped Masters and Talbot would bring more back with them, along with photos from the crime scene.

“Fourth, actually,” Banes corrected. He frowned at the pictures they had pinned on the board. “We had two last week, remember?”

“Right, of course,” Castiel said. He found his small notebook and placed it on the desk, smoothing the page out before copying a few keywords from the file. It’d be easier for him to review later that way, and it helped him memorize everything quicker. “Do we know how this fire started?”

“We still don’t have an official report from the fire department, but based on the other restaurants we expect to find gasoline tanks and multiple points of origin,” Mills said. 

“If that’s the case, we should ask for the police department to send us copies of the owner’s statement,” Castiel said. “The owners of the other restaurants were all adamant that they were not involved in the fires, but until the investigations are concluded we only have their word to go on.”

Banes sighed. “So far there wasn't any evidence found in the scenes to prove who set the fire. The insurance companies are rubbing their hands, of course, but the owners are looking at financial ruin if their claim isn’t approved.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Castiel said. “Maybe whoever set the fire made it obvious it was an arson on purpose. Maybe they wanted to ruin the restaurant owners.”

“The police asked all of them if they have enemies,” Mills said. “None of them gave any useful answers.”

“I wouldn’t either if I was scared,” Castiel pointed out. He turned the pages of his notebook, going back to check his notes on the other restaurants. “Somebody could be threatening them. If that’s the case we’ll have better luck looking for leads and witnesses outside of the restaurant employees. We should talk with neighbors, passers-by, check for surveillance cameras. There has to be some kind of link between them.”

“I’ll get in touch with the police chief,” Mills said, reaching for her tablet. “He’s personally taken over the investigation on their end. Banes, please go over the files of the other restaurants again. I know we didn’t find any obvious connection until now, but that might change with the new information coming in.”

Castiel thumbed the edge of the paper in front of him. “If it really is someone threatening the owners, I doubt they went straight to arson. There would have been smaller incidents in the past, warnings. Maybe some of them were even reported. We should check our files again for anything that looks suspicious. That might give us the connection we’re missing.”

Mills nodded. “Good idea. You’ll help Banes with that, then?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. 

“Two of us will cover everything faster,” Banes added with a thankful smile. He was the youngest of the team, appointed as Mills’ partner fresh out of the Academy, around the same time Castiel had been partnered with Dean for the Tri-State Murders, though back then, Castiel still hadn’t met the rest of the team. With his experience now, he could see why Banes had been assigned to Mills. His seemingly endless energy and eagerness to take on as many cases as possible complimented her calmness and analytical thinking well and her experience meant Mills was the perfect mentor for a rookie.

That, of course, made Director Singer’s choice in pairing Dean and Castiel all the more questionable. Though, considering they did solve the case and ended up fucking their frustration out instead of murdering each other, maybe Singer had been onto something. What that something was, remained to be seen. 

Castiel settled back in his chair and retrieved his laptop from his briefcase. It seemed it was going to be a long day of paperwork and research until Masters and Talbot made it back to the office, and he still hadn’t reviewed the folders he was supposed to go through last night. He had a lot of catching up to do. 

***

Several hours and a very stiff neck later, Castiel emerged from the pile of files he was looking into. He rolled his head, spine cracking with the movement, and a satisfied groan escaped him. 

Banes glanced at him at the noise, bleary-eyed and looking every bit exhausted as Castiel felt. “Anything yet?”

“Nothing concrete, but…” Castiel trailed off; he searched through the papers until he found the one he was looking for. “Two of the restaurants were involved in minor drug cases. Apparently the police received anonymous tips which led to the investigation of the premises. Both times the restaurants were closed for a couple of months and their owners prosecuted. Both cases were dropped because of lack of evidence. The drugs couldn’t be linked to anyone working in the restaurants.”

“So the drugs were planted there,” Banes said. “Happens all the time. You’d be surprised how cutthroat businessmen can be. They’ll do anything to get rid of their competition, even plant coke inside toilet lids.”

“Yeah, I’m assuming that’s what happened in this case too,” Castiel muttered. Still, it was weird. Both of those incidents had happened a few months before the arsons. As far as threats went, it was a bit heavy-handed, but until they found anything else, it was all they had to work with. “I’ll dig a little deeper. See if I can recover the case files for both restaurants.”

“Good thinking,” Banes agreed. He sighed. “I’m starting to think that unless we get the owners to talk to us we won’t make any breakthrough. We can come up with as many theories as we want, but at this point, we have no evidence and no witnesses.”

“Nobody is perfect,” Castiel said. “Whoever is behind this is bound to have made a mistake. We only have to keep looking until—”

“We have a murder scene,” Mills cut him off, bursting into the room only long enough to bark orders for them both to be ready to leave in ten minutes and then disappearing again.

Castiel and Banes exchanged a dumbfounded look. 

“A murder scene? How is a murder scene connected to the arsons?” Banes asked, standing up.

Castiel fought to put the papers in front of him in some kind of order that would make sense once he returned to them later, his mind already going through all the possible scenarios for a murder that was linked to this puzzling case. “Maybe it’s one of the owners? Or an employee? Either way, we won’t find out until we get there.”

“Talbot and Masters aren’t even back yet.” Banes pulled his coat on, quickly going through the usual pat-down for badge, gun, and wallet. 

Castiel mimicked him, though he paused when his hand came over his phone in his pocket. “Mills will probably have them meet us there,” he said. “Listen, I have to make a phone call, but I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

“Sure. I’ll get the car ready,” Banes said, already walking out of the door.

Castiel waited a few seconds just to be sure he wouldn't come back. It wouldn’t do for his colleague to overhear this phone conversation. Not that he’d be talking about anything weird or too personal with Dean, but he still wanted to keep their arrangement as separate from their work as possible.

“Hey, I was just about to get in the shower,” Dean said, the sound of his voice reminding Castiel of his cocky grin. “There’s only an hour left for our lunch, is that too long a wait for you?”

“Listen, Dean, I can’t make it today. Something came up,” Castiel said, cupping a hand over his mouth and the phone. He glanced at the door left slightly open. There didn’t seem to be anyone outside, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. 

“Something?” Dean asked, any hint of teasing disappearing from his voice. “You mean a case?”

“You know I can’t share any details with you, but yes, it’s a case. I think. I still haven’t been briefed myself. I thought I’d call you first and let you know I’ll be working late and won’t make it for our lunch.”

“Hey, that’s fine. You got work to do, I get it. Will I see you tonight?”

Castiel hesitated. He wanted to go meet Dean, he really did, but he couldn’t make a promise he wasn’t sure he was going to keep. “I don’t know, this might take a while. I haven’t even been to the crime scene yet.”

“So there’s a crime scene,” Dean said, and Castiel winced internally. He shouldn’t have let that one slip.

“Yeah, but that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Dean booed, his pout audible even through the phone.

“Dean, I really have to go, but I’ll try and come over later, okay?” Castiel said, not willing to think about how Dean Winchester could be equally frustrating and endearing and, more importantly, endlessly distracting. He had work to do, he couldn’t let Dean rope him into an argument about confidentiality yet again.

“Fine, fine,” Dean relented. “I’ll talk to you later then.”

Castiel had just ended the call when Mills poked her head inside one more time.

“Novak, get moving. We should have been on the road five minutes ago.”

Castiel hurried to follow her, falling into step as they entered the elevator that would take them to the underground level, where personal cars and FBI issued SUVs alike were parked. 

“Do we know who the victim is?” Castiel asked.

Mills’ lips pressed into a thin line, and though she tried to remain professional, Castiel was good at reading people. Whatever had them rushing out of the office like this and was serious enough to make even Mills seem anxious, was obviously more complex than their average case. 

“It’s the police chief,” Mills said, and Castiel stopped his mouth from falling open at the last second.

“What?”

“His wife found him half an hour ago. Talbot and Masters should already be waiting for us there, and we’ve already called for a forensics team. Their ETA is ten minutes.” She checked her phone as she stepped out of the elevator as if she wanted to reassure herself that everything was going according to schedule. “Hopefully the coroner will have something for us by the time we—”

A blaring honk interrupted her, echoing through the hollow of the underground parking and making them both jump a little. The windows of one of the SUVs closest to them rolled down, and Banes grinned at them from the driver’s seat.

“Come on! We’re going to be late.”

Mills rolled her eyes. “As if Winchester wasn’t enough of a pain in the ass,” she muttered, though not low enough that Castiel didn’t catch it. 

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one with troubles adjusting to his new partner. 

***

“Novak, nice of you to join us,” Talbot said, looking up from where she was crouched next to the body of the police chief. The man’s eyes were glassy as he stared up at the ceiling, hands limp at his sides. Aside from the tiny hole between his brows, and the much bigger and much uglier hole Castiel imagined was on the back of his skull where the bullet had broken through bone and brain on its way out, the man looked perfectly fine if a little more blue than what was probably healthy. He didn’t even have the usual horrified expression that was frozen on most victims’ faces. 

“What do we have here?” Castiel asked. Dropping to sit like Talbot, he squinted at the coroner, whose gloved fingers were moving all over the body. Mills and Banes had stayed outside, to talk with the police officers who had arrived after the wife’s distressed call and had secured the scene for them until they’d arrived, leaving him to work with Talbot, Masters, and their forensics team, who had already started work, laying out the paths that were safe for officers and agents to use without disturbing the scene.

“Looks like an execution,” Talbot said.

“One shot, point-blank. Little sign of struggle so far, though his wrists are bruised,” the coroner added, pointing to all the signs on the body as he listed them. “His hands were tied behind his back. Judging from the angle of the bloodstain on the wall and the height of the droplets, he was sitting in a chair, and the killer was standing above him. He was probably moved after death to the floor, but for what reason, we can only guess.”

Castiel’s eyes moved to follow the gruesome scene behind the coroner, where blood had stained the warm yellow walls of the room. A single drop had hit a portrait of the chief and his wife, marking the wife’s face across her cheek, as if she was crying. Aside from that mess, the rest of the room was clean. Too clean. If the police chief really had been tied to a chair, then both the chair and the ropes used to restrain him were gone, destroyed, or otherwise disposed of. Castiel doubted they’d ever find either of the two.

“It looks like the work of a professional,” Talbot said, echoing Castiel’s thoughts. 

“Yeah, probably,” Castiel mumbled. He looked up then, surveying the room. “Where is Masters? We didn’t see her when we arrived.”

“Upstairs with the wife,” Talbot said and gestured with her head to the staircase that was across the room from the front door, her light brown hair spilling over her face with the movement and forcing her to tuck it back behind her ear. “She’s been trying to get her statement for half an hour already.”

“Half hour? How did you guys get here so quickly?”

“We were already on our way back from the torched restaurant when Mills called us. We changed direction immediately and were here within minutes. Unfortunately, the killer was long gone by then.”

“Time of death?” Castiel asked, turning back to the coroner, who tilted his head from side to side in consideration.

“According to temperature measurements, the chief has been dead for five hours give or take,” the coroner said. “Rigor mortis hadn’t started when the body was moved, so the killer must have worked fast. He didn’t linger here more than necessary. I’ll know more once I take the body back for a more thorough investigation.”

“The wife found him an hour ago,” Talbot said as she pushed herself up again. She waited only long enough to make sure Castiel would follow, then walked to where most of the blood was splattered across the wall. She pointed to a hole in the wall. “There’s a bullet in there. I’m just waiting for forensics to finish cataloguing and photographing everything and then I’ll pull it out. I doubt it’s going to give us a lead, but it’s something.”

Castiel shook his head. “This guy is too good to have left important evidence behind. Everything else in here is spotless, and he forgets to retrieve the bullet?”

“That’s why I said I doubt it’s going to be useful,” Talbot said. 

Heavy footsteps were heard coming up the porch stairs outside, and moments later, Director Singer himself walked inside the house, followed by both Mills and Banes. Every single person inside the room, Castiel and Talbot included, stopped what they were doing and turned to the director, unsure of the protocol. It wasn’t every day that Singer appeared at a crime scene.

“Alright, everyone, listen up. I want you to treat this case as if it's the most important one of your career, and it probably is,” Singer said, eyes moving over them, assessing their work and their attitude; several backs straightened up in response to his words, and even Castiel felt the urge to stand at attention. “I don’t want anything leaked to the press, nothing inside here left unbagged and not sent to the laboratory, even if at first glance it doesn’t look relevant to our investigation. Every question, evidence, hint, even theory that you have comes through me first. As of right now, I’m taking over as team leader of this investigation.”

Talbot and Castiel exchanged a silent look. Director Singer was back out in the field, getting hands-on involved with an active case? Fuck, they really were in deep waters this time. 


	2. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Cas is busy with his new case, Dean decides to go for a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been MONTHS but the second chapter is finally here. I'm so sorry it took so long. A huge thank you to [ mrs.hays ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrshays/works) and [theimportanceofbeingvictoria ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimportanceofbeingvictoria/pseuds/theimportanceofbeingvictoria) for helping me!

“You seem distracted today.”

Dean pressed his palm on his thigh to stop his knee from fidgeting. Dr. Roberts looked at him expectantly, the human personification of patience, as always.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “It’s just that my team is working on a new case, and I guess I feel a little left out.”

“You talked with your team members?”

Dean shifted in his seat. He crossed his legs. Then uncrossed them. He finally settled for just pressing his knees together. “Not _all_ of them. Just Novak.”

She tapped her pen on her notebook, her eyes never leaving his face. “I’m glad you get along with him. I think it’s important that you feel comfortable with the person you’ll be working so closely with when you’re back in the field. I’m just wondering why you don’t talk with the others?”

“I just…” Dean struggled to find the words. Therapy had been torture for the past few months, and he couldn’t wait to be done with it. Not that Dr. Roberts was bad at her job. Maybe the problem was she was too good at it. “They wouldn’t get it,” he finally settled for.

“Because they weren’t there?” she asked, giving him a clear opening to spill his heart out. She did that a lot. 

“I guess. Plus none of them have been betrayed by a colleague before. Novak has been through something similar. He… he can relate.”

“Agent Lafitte wasn’t just a colleague, though,” she pointed out, cocking her head to the side in a way that reminded Dean of Cas. 

He wondered what Cas was doing at that moment. What did the crime scene look like? Was there a victim, did they have suspects, did they secure the building, was the killer among them?

Dean shuddered. No. He wouldn’t think like that. They were good. His team were all good. No killers among them. They weren’t Benny. 

Dr. Roberts was still looking at him with her eyebrow a hair higher than it’d been before. Oh, right. She was expecting something.

“Benny was a friend, too,” Dean said, rubbing his sweaty palm over his jeans. Talking about Benny was always hard, and it was the one topic Dean avoided like the plague during these sessions. Of course, it was just his luck that it was what Dr. Roberts wanted to talk about most of the time.

“I’ve seen your file, Dean,” Dr. Roberts said, leafing through her notes. “An impressive record. Former Marine, honorably discharged after a mission that took out almost your entire team. Several years of therapy to deal with PTSD while you went back to school to get your degree in Public Safety Administration. Top of your class at the FBI Academy, excellent Agent, notoriously bad with your partners.” She looked up at him.

“Usually people have to buy me dinner before they learn all that stuff,” Dean said, trying to be humorous, but it fell flat even to his own ears.

“I’m just surprised. You have experience with this side of your career. You’ve worked with therapists before. You managed to get your symptoms under control before, but _now,_ you refuse to talk to me. You’ve been coming here for close to two months and we’ve barely talked about anything else except the TV shows you are binge-watching.”

Dean refused to squirm. “You make me sound boring.”

“Trying to get you to open up is like pulling teeth with my bare hands,” she said, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know what your experience was the last time you were sitting in that chair, but if you want to go back to active duty, then you have to start trying more. This is very unprofessional of me, but I think you’re a good agent, and I _know_ you can do good if I sign the paper that says you’re ready to get back out there, but I can’t sign it until you _are_ ready. And as it is right now…”

“Look, I’m trying,” Dean said, panic rising up his throat to choke him. He needed her to sign that paper, he needed to get back out there and solve crimes and go after the bad guys. He needed it like he needed oxygen to survive. “I haven’t missed an appointment yet, and I—”

“Showing up is not enough to pass the bar, Dean. I’m sorry,” Dr. Roberts said, voice even. Her unwavering professionalism sometimes (now) made Dean want to shake her. 

“We both know this is bullshit!” Dean didn’t mean to raise his voice. Outwardly she didn’t look like she minded. Oddly, she looked pleased somehow. Maybe because she finally got a reaction out of him. Dean deflated. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This is only procedural, okay? All you have to assess is that I’m not going to go kamikaze during a mission, and I won’t. We both know that.”

“It’s not only about preventing you from going kamikaze, Dean. This is about your well-being as much as the others.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But is that something you’re worried about? That you’ll… turn on your colleagues?”

_That you’ll become like Benny?_

Dean clenched his jaw. “Look, what Benny did hurt like hell. I won’t deny that. He and I… we were a team back in the day. More than a team. We were friends, family. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She nodded. “It’s a start.” Dr. Roberts stared at him, but this time Dean wasn’t going to back down. He let the silence stretch long and uncomfortable between them, until, finally, she said, “Why do you think you were so close with Lafitte? He and Novak are the only two partners you haven’t managed to scare away. Yet. Why is that?”

Dean slumped back in his seat. “I don’t know. Working with Benny was easy for some reason. And Novak…”

_Novak makes that broken sound when he comes, and I think I might be addicted to it._

Yeah, there was no way he was saying that out loud. 

“You felt that you could relate to Lafitte somehow, maybe?” she pressed. “Because you and Lafitte had similar backgrounds, similar ideologies, too, perhaps.”

“I guess,” Dean mumbled. “Dude knew his shit, alright? I didn’t feel like I had to babysit him when we were in the field.”

“And you feel like you have to babysit everyone else?”

“Sometimes. It’s complicated.”

“What about Novak? Do you feel like you have to babysit him, too?”

Maybe in the past. Dean thought back to when he and Cas had first met. When they’d almost started throwing punches in Bobby’s office. He’d thought Cas was inexperienced and a liability. Joke was on him. It was Cas who had to rush to Dean’s rescue when Benny had betrayed him and dragged him to some creepy underground lair to try and make him his accomplice. 

The memory still made Dean shiver.

“Novak’s a complicated guy. I mean, he has his own issues, and God knows he’s an asshole that likes to get on my nerves, but he’s reliable. Competent. Smart. He was the only one who figured out Benny.”

“Does it bother you?” Dr. Roberts asked then, zeroing in on him like a hunter who’d just discovered her prey was weak. “That it was him that figured out the killer was Agent Lafitte, and not you?”

“Why would it bother me?” Dean shot back without missing a beat. He didn’t like feeling cornered, and he certainly didn’t like what Dr. Roberts was implying.

“You barely get out of the house these days,” she replied, completely blindsiding him with the change of subject. “You rarely talk with anyone but your brother and Novak—”

“Hey, that’s not fair, I talk to you, don’t I?”

“—you’ve isolated yourself. It’s natural to need some space after going through something as traumatic as you did, but I can’t help but wonder...” She paused for a beat. Then, “Do you perhaps feel guilty you didn’t realize Agent Lafitte was behind the murders?”

Dean swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I thought the point of therapy was that I get to talk about what’s on _my_ mind, not about your _theories?”_

“Alright then. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well, Dr. Piccolo performed an illegal autopsy, and now she’s worried that—”

“Dean! You’re deflecting again. This is not funny.”

He shrugged. “It’s kind of funny. And it’s what I wanna talk about.”

She sighed, the first sign she had feelings like a normal human being should since Dean had met her. “You know, I don’t mind. We can sit here and look at each other until your hour is over. We’re on _your_ time. I’m getting paid either way.”

“Technically, we’re on Bobby’s time,” Dean said, tongue-in-cheek.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think you’re cute. If you want to be technical about it, it’s not Director Singer’s money but the Agency’s money. Money you’re wasting currently. But if that’s what you want to do, be my guest. Just know that I’m not signing off for you to go back to active duty until I know you’re ready, and right now you’re not.”

“Maybe I am and you don’t know it.”

“Maybe I would if you talked to me.”

“Maybe I’d talk to you if you didn’t attack me every chance you get.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t ‘attack you’, as you say if it wasn’t the only way to get you to say something, _anything,_ that is real.”

Dean sank back against his seat, crossing his legs at the knee. He checked his watch. About ten minutes left for this session. Good. If she wanted to play this game, Dean could play this game. He could spend the next ten minutes in silence.

***

The one thing Dr. Roberts was right about, Dean had to reluctantly admit, was that if he wasn’t spending his nights boning Cas, he was sprawled on his couch in dirty pajamas watching Dr. Sexy reruns. And yes, this particular routine was usually his favorite past-time when he needed to unwind and relax, but after a few months of doing little else… well, it was getting to him. 

He toyed with his phone, sending a couple of teasing messages to Cas—mostly things like ‘ _Miss me yet?’_ and _‘When I come back to work we should check if I fit under your desk, for research purposes of course’_ —which Castiel answered first with a frowny face emoji—adorable but entirely unhelpful—and then with a declaration that if Dean continued to send him inappropriate messages at work he’d, “Shoot his ass.”

Cas was not one to sext at work. Duly noted. 

That plan having failed as well, Dean threw his phone to the table next to his couch. He could watch a movie. Except he didn’t really feel like it. And he didn’t really feel like reading a book either. He could…

He eyed the silent phone sitting on his table.

Cas had said he didn’t like Dean surprising him at his apartment. But he hadn’t said anything about _Dean’s_ apartment. And having dinner ready wasn't exactly a _surprise_. They had to eat something when Cas inevitably stumbled here exhausted from a long day of work. 

After sex of course. Because though Dean wasn't sure what it was, but something about Cas working his tie loose and rolling his sleeves to his elbows made Dean weak at the knees. And invariably ended with Cas bent over the nearest surface.

His dick twitched inside his boxers at the mental image, and he had to stop himself from touching it. It'd be a lot more fun with Cas.

_Bobby in his fishing get-up, Bones' hair in the food, Sam's bitch face._

Okay. That definitely helped keep things under control. 

Now. It was time to embrace his role as a supportive housewife. 

Half an hour later, Dean had the perfect burgers waiting on the counter. It wouldn't be too long before Cas showed up, he thought, frying the last batch of potatoes. 

As if summoned, his phone flashed with Cas' name.

"Cas, hey!" Dean said, slotting the phone between his ear and shoulder. "You done for today?"

"No, actually,” Castiel said, sighing. He sounded exhausted. “This whole case is a mess. Singer just took over.”

“Bobby did? Shit, things must be serious.” Turning the stove off, Dean grabbed the phone properly and walked to the living room to be able to hear Cas better.

“You have no idea.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Dean,” Castiel warned. “You know I can’t share any details with you.”

Dean shrugged even though Cas couldn’t see him. “Eh, I still had to try. How are you holding up? You sound tired.”

Another sigh. “I am, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll probably pull an all-nighter at the office today.” A pause. “Unless you want me to swing by and watch a movie together later.”

Dean glanced back at the burgers waiting on his counter, his stomach sinking to the floor. “Nah, it’s fine. You’re busy, I get it. I’d probably have done the same thing in your shoes.”

“I don’t want to ditch you,” Cas tried to say.

Dean shushed him. “Hey, you’re not ditching me, okay? You’re working, it’s different. Besides, I’ll be perfectly fine on my own. I’ll probably turn in early anyway.”

“Are you sure? You wanted us to watch that ‘ _Star Wars_ ’ movie.”

Warmth spread through Dean, the finger quotes Cas was so fond of practically audible down the line. He could easily imagine Cas hidden in a corner of the office away from their team members, torn between his plans with Dean and his duty. “Cas, really, it’s fine.”

Cas exhaled. “Okay. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow, then?”

“Sure, it’s a date,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Talk to you later.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

Somehow Dean didn’t feel like eating anymore. It was a real shame that two awesome burgers would go to waste, but truly, Dean couldn’t swallow a single bite even if he tried. Slum-shouldered, he set about cleaning his kitchen.

***

Dean was running, the scorching sun blinding him, heavy equipment threatening to sink him into the sand. They were being chased. The enemy was closing in on them. He had to get away, he had to save them, had to fight, had to kill or be killed. He took a sharp turn, only for the butt of a rifle to collide with his nose, throwing him blind with pain to the ground.

Dean rolled away on instinct, but the attacker kicked him, knocking his rifle out of his hand.

He was unarmed. Helpless. Weak. 

The man walked towards Dean, gun muzzle pointing straight at his chest. When he was close enough, he yanked the scarf covering his face down.

“It’s nice to see you again, brother.”

Dean gasped. “Benny?”

Benny cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. 

Dean woke up shivering. For a heart-stopping moment, he didn’t know where he was. Then his eyes focused on the shape of his dresser, the shadow his bedroom door cast against his wall, and he slumped back against the mattress, inhaling roughly.

A dream. It was only a dream.

Slowly, he sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, chin to his chest. 

Of course, it was a dream. He was no longer a Marine. And Benny had never served with him. 

Benny was dead. 

The room was too cold all of a sudden. Grabbing the blanket that had ended up on the floor from his tossing and turning and wrapping it around his shoulders, he got up in search of a glass of water. It did little to help with his too dry throat, but it grounded him a little. 

He was in his apartment.

Cas was working late.

Everything was okay. 

That thought almost made him chuckle.

 _Everything was okay._

Hell, nothing was okay, and in the darkness of his own home Dean could admit it, at least to himself. He was broken. Broken and powerless. The way things were, Dr. Roberts would never give him the O.K. to go back to work. And maybe it was for the best. How long before the others realized he was useless? That he could barely function like a normal person anymore? Cas knew it already. He knew that Dean was a weak coward. A weak coward that could barely make it out of his house. Cas knew that even lunch was too much for Dean.

A stinging pain slashed through his thoughts, and he blinked back into the present. Something wet was dripping from his hand. Dazed, he turned to reach for the light and stepped on something sharp. 

“What the fuck?”

The glass in his hand was broken. Pieces of it were scattered all over the floor around his feet.

When did he…? 

Cold dread washed over him. But no. No, no, no, no. He wouldn’t let it get to him. He wasn’t useless, and he wasn’t a coward. He just needed to get back in the game. Yeah, everything would be totally fine. And he’d go have lunch with Cas tomorrow and he’d be fine. Fine. Dr. Roberts was wrong. Cas was wrong, too. Dean was a perfectly functional member of society. As a matter of fact, he was going to prove it. He was going out. Right that second. He was going to get himself a drink, and he was going to talk to people, and he was going to be fine. Period.

He wouldn’t allow himself anything less.

***

Purgatory had changed a lot since the last time Dean had been there. For one, the line to get in was much longer than he remembered but also, the entire club had been renovated. Not that he could make out any details in the dim lighting, just a glimpse of new tables and a bigger bar under the strobe lights that made his eyes hurt. 

And why was everyone so young?

No, wait. Scratch that. It was Dean who was old. Heh. Awkward. 

But he’d made it all the way here, and he waited for half an hour to have a stupid invisible Purgatory logo stamped on his hand, so he might as well enjoy his night out. 

Telling himself so was one thing. Actually doing it was a completely different matter.

The stale, smoke-filled atmosphere made his eyes water almost the moment he stepped foot on the main area, trying to push his way through the crowd and towards the bar. Back in the day he’d have loved the way so many bodies were grinding together, would have found a way to join them as soon as possible, but now he was just extra aware of how sweaty and smelly everyone around him seemed to be.

Growing old indeed. 

Trapped as he was in the throng of people, Dean twisted his body trying to find an opening. 

There was none. 

The place was so packed that even the waitresses had trouble coming and going, their glowy trays held high above the heads of the people. 

A girl twirled, stepping on his foot. A guy bumped into him, spilling his drink on the already sticky floor. Why was Dean here again?

Oh right. He had a point to prove.

Except, the longer he spent in this suffocating place, the more he realized that he wasn’t proving anything except that he wanted to go back home.

Grinding his teeth, Dean rolled his shoulders back. No. He came here for a drink, and he was going to get his drink for fuck’s sake. Despite the loud bass that vibrated against his ribcage and the uncomfortable way his stomach twisted the more he thought about how if anything happened there was no time to get everyone out, he was determined to get at least one drink. This was normal. All the other people felt safe. Dean was safe.

Somehow he managed to squeeze himself between two guys and finally—fucking _finally!—_ reach the bar. Getting the attention of the bartender was another exercise in patience, and when the guy did come to get his order, Dean could do nothing but blink at him.

“Dude, hurry up,” the man complained, yelling over the loud music and the shouts of the people, not even bothering to hide his impatience. “Can’t you see we’re packed tonight? I can’t stay here for an hour waiting for you to decide.”

Dean blinked. “Just get me a shot. The strongest you have.”

The man raised his eyebrows but complied. Soon a shot of a clear liquid was placed in front of him, and Dean threw it back. It burned his throat on its way down, and Dean hissed against the bitter taste of it, but he did it. There. No one could tell him he wasn't going out like any normal person, even if it was just for a shot and even if he was already more than ready to go home.

_Baby steps._

Another battle through the crowd later, Dean stumbled outside, gulping in the fresh air greedily. This had been a horrible idea all things considered. Lunch with Cas was going to be so much less painful, plus so much less stressful with Cas there. He should have waited for that to prove he was okay.

Hunching his shoulders against the chilly fall air, Dean pushed his hands in his pockets and started walking back to his car. The farther away he was from Purgatory the better he felt. Yeah, this had probably been a stupid idea. 

A crash and loud voices stopped him dead in his tracks. 

On instinct, Dean ducked behind one of the dumpsters nearby, staying out of view of the men standing in the alley next to the club. They were clustered together by the side door, three of them easily recognizable as hired muscles working for Purgatory, while the other two skinnier, weaker looking guys held their hands up in surrender. 

“Get out of here,” one of the muscles barked. “If I ever see you sneaking around here you won’t get away with just a few bruises.”

If the two men said anything in reply it was too low for Dean to hear. They quickly gathered their jackets from the ground, probably where they’d picked themselves up from, and hurried away. 

Dean really shouldn’t…

“See, Ed? I told you it was a stupid idea.”

“What did you want me to do? Wait for evidence to fall from the sky?”

He really shouldn’t.

The two men passed right in front of him, looking a little worse for wear. Closer to the streetlamp it was easy to see they weren’t dressed for a night out. More like for the library. Now, what could two nerds like them have done to be thrown out of a club?

Dean _really_ shouldn’t. 

But he was too curious to resist.

“Hey, you guys,” he called stepping closer to the street light.

The two men flinched, spinning around. One of the two raised his hands in what he probably thought was a martial art stance. Dean called it I-watched-too-much-Karate-kid-growing-up. The other guy was trembling like a fish.

“We’re not looking for trouble, I swear,” Not Karate Kid Wannabe whimpered. 

Dean opened his arms in a hopefully non-threatening gesture. “I’m not going to beat you guys up.”

The two guys exchanged a doubtful look.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to rob you either. I saw those guys bullying you,” he said, pointing in the direction of the club side door. “Everything alright?”

Some of the tension leaked out of the two guys, but they still kept a careful distance from Dean. 

“Everything’s fine,” Karate Kid Wannabe called, giving Dean a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Dean cocked his head to the side. “You sure about that? I only want to help.” He kept his hands relaxed at his side, aiming for as casual as possible.

“Seriously, man, that was nothing,” the guy insisted. “Just a friendly, er, friendly dispute.”

Dean jutted his chin out, pointing at the black eye of his friend. “That doesn’t look friendly to me.”

Not Karate Kid Wannabe quickly brought a hand up to cover his face in response.

Karate Kid Wannabe elbowed him at the side, hissing something at him before turning back to Dean. “Man, seriously, let it go. We’re fine.”

Dean nodded, pursing his lips. “Alright. But just in case you’re not and need help, have my card.” He made a show of slowly taking his wallet out of his pocket, before passing his card to Karate Kid Wannabe, the most daring of the two.

Raising an eyebrow, the guy glanced down to read it. Then his eyes widened. “Holy fuck! You’re FBI?”

Dean shrugged. 

Not Karate Kid Wannabe scoffed. “Oh come on, Ed, what are the odds?”

Karate Kid Wannabe—Ed—slapped him across the arm. “Shut up, Harry. This is clearly fate.”

“You don’t think this is a little suspicious?”

“I think it’s more probable we met an FBI agent at random than it is the bad guys just happened to have fake FBI cards to lure us into a trap.”

“You sound insane.”

“All geniuses sound insane,” Ed declared.

Dean watched the two men amused. He wasn’t sure what was happening here, but it was far better than sulking at home. At least this was entertaining. And it totally counted as socialization, so there, Dr. Roberts.

Just as the conversation was turning to a full-blown argument, Dean shook his head. “You guys,” he called, putting himself firmly between them. “Like I said, I only want to help. If you don’t trust me, fine, I’ll go on my merry way, but I’m telling you, I’m the real deal.”

“A real FBI agent?” Ed breathed, something like wonder shining in his eyes.

“Sure,” Dean said. Except for the little fact that he was on leave. Details. 

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at Dean. “Prove it.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips. “Look, man, I don’t usually carry my badge when I go out for a drink, but tonight’s your lucky day.” A blatant lie. Dean carried his badge on him at all times in case of an emergency and more importantly, in case of a hookup. Ladies loved a man in uniform after all. Well, reason number two was no longer valid since he wasn’t single anymore, but still.

He flashed his badge, a little pride trickling down his spine at how smooth the gesture was. He still had it. A few months on the bench weren’t enough to make Dean Winchester lose his game. Ed and Harry stared at it for a long minute, while Dean wondered if they’d be able to tell if he had a fake one. He doubted it. They didn’t look like they spent a lot of time outside their basement. 

At last, Ed nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

More reluctantly Harry nodded, too. “I guess he’s really legit.”

“Face it, Harry, we were meant to meet him. It’s not just luck that brought us on Mr. Winchester’s path tonight.”

Dean winced. “Please. Just Dean.”

“Dean,” Ed said, turning to him with his chest puffed out. “It’s very nice to meet you. Let me introduce myself. I’m Ed Zeddmore and this is my colleague, Harry Spangler. We are the Ghostfacers.”

Dean did a double-take.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“See, I told you it was a lame name,” Harry complained, hitting Ed across the chest. 

“It’s a very good name, and we’ve already paid for the website so there’s no going back now.”

“Are you guys, like, ghost hunters?” Dean asked, starting to think that talking with them wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe he was still dreaming.

“Former,” Ed said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It didn’t work out,” Harry added.

“Turns out you can’t be a ghost hunter when you can’t find any ghosts to hunt.”

Pursing his lips, Dean inhaled noisily. It was probably time for a strategic retreat. “And you thought Purgatory is haunted?”

Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Actually, we’re trying to make it as journalists now. We turned our ghost hunting page to a news website.”

“Our motto is: ‘Facing the ghosts of society.’” Ed opened his arms as if to underline his words. 

“Okay…” Dean took a step back.

“Great, he thinks we’re crazy,” Harry sighed.

“Wait, we’re not crazy! I promise,” Ed said. “We’re here because we are following a major lead. One that could even pique an FBI agent’s interest.”

The brow wiggle that followed was a bit creepy. Scratch that, it was majorly creepy. 

Dean took another step back, plastering on a fake smile. “Oh really? And what is it that you two ghost chasing journalists are investigating?” He eyed his car down the street. It was so close and yet so far. God, why couldn’t he have kept his nose out of this? 

“Ghostfacers.”

“Ghostfacers, right,” Dean nodded. Lamest name ever. Even for ghost hunters. 

“We—” Ed made a show of checking behind his shoulder, even though they were clearly alone in the alley. “We have stumbled upon a prostitution ring.”

For the second, maybe third time that night, Dean did a double-take. What the actual fuck?

“Now, I know it sounds crazy, but we have proof. It’s all back at my apartment.”

“A prostitution ring,” Dean huffed. “And you guys haven’t gone straight to the police with your ‘proof’ yet?”

Harry’s face pulled into a pained grimace. “It’s not really… concrete proof. More like circumstantial evidence. Like, _really_ circumstantial.”

“Purgatory is one of the fanciest clubs in the city. Don’t you think someone bigger than you two would have caught something as big as it being a cover for a prostitution ring if it was true?” Dean asked, and why the fuck was he still talking to them? Was he really that desperate for the thrill of an investigation? 

“Cops are dirty,” Harry said, at the same time Ed said, “They’ve covered up their tracks really well.”

Dean paused. “And your evidence?”

“Like I said, back at my apartment.”

Dean sighed. Yes. Yes, he really was that desperate for the thrill of an investigation.

***

Despite their outward appearance, Ed’s apartment was actually decent. A bit eccentric maybe, what with all the paranormal decor that was everywhere, but cozy in a weird, occultic way. As he followed Ed to his ‘center of operations’ (AKA his spare bedroom) he touched the nose of a Baphomet statue sitting on a table. Was that bad luck?

“So, I know it’s a little messy,” Ed said and opened the door, clearing his throat. “But it’s all the information we have.”

Now, Dean was not the biggest fan of the internet. But even he had seen that weird meme thing with the crazy conspiracy guy. And it felt like he’d just stepped into that guy’s room. A huge map covered the wall across the door, with several pictures (of nothing in particular, Dean noticed) and hastily scribbled notes pinned all over it. Threads of various colors connected everything, creating an intricate and knotted web. The Ghostfacers watched too many cop shows, clearly.

“So, what do you think?” Ed asked, hovering by Dean’s side almost too close to be comfortable. The only person Dean had ever allowed to be in his personal space like that was Cas, and even him Dean had wanted to shoot at first. 

Dean coughed discreetly. “Why don’t you explain everything to me. You say you’ve discovered a prostitution ring, how?”

Harry raised his hand hesitantly. “That was me, actually.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded in his direction in encouragement.

“Well, you see I’m an accountant—I mean, that’s my real job, not the Ghostfacers thing—and my boss has some high profile clients. Very high profile. We’re talking about millions.”

“Harry, he’s not interested in all that,” Ed interjected, rolling his eyes. “And Ghostfacers is not a ‘thing’, it’s our future.”

“Whatever,” Harry said. “Anyway, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, because getting that job meant I signed a crapload of NDAs that could come back and bite me in the ass, but this is big. My job is mostly being an assistant now, you know getting coffee, getting my boss lunch, that kind of stuff, and one day he told me to pick up his laptop—it was malfunctioning and he had it fixed—so obviously I turn it on to make sure it’s working before he comes to the office so I don’t get yelled at first thing in the morning.”

Harry paused, fidgeting.

Dean sighed. “And?”

“And I also opened a few documents at random to make sure nothing was lost. I found some emails about private parties my boss and some of our clients attend. Private parties that provide women. I should have just turned the damn thing off and pretended I never saw anything, but I was curious, so I did a little digging around in our files. I found several receipts for ‘Special Services Provided’ and all of them were from Purgatory. I figured that’s where everything was happening.”

“That’s it?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. “You saw a few emails and some receipts and you just jumped to the conclusion that you stumbled upon a prostitution ring.”

“Well, I— I—” Harry stammered.

“We told you that our evidence is not concrete,” Ed jumped in. He stuck his chin out as if daring Dean to contradict him. “Besides, we didn’t base our theory on those emails alone. We did our investigation. We went to Purgatory to confirm our suspicions.”

“And got thrown out,” Dean pointed out. “Did you guys find anything useful?”

Ed deflated. He exchanged a weird look with Harry, who only shrugged in response.

“We did find out that Purgatory has two VIP lounges, one of which is private. We think that’s where the parties are held.”

Harry straightened his shirt before adding, “We also saw several Ubers dropping girls off at the side door of the club right as the party started.”

Their evidence wasn’t evidence at all. Now that Dean knew the whole story he could also tell that everything on that wall was a load of bullshit. Those guys were totally out of their depth in this ‘investigation’ of theirs. The chance they were right was so low it was almost insignificant.

But if they _were_ right…

“You guys are right, your evidence is pretty circumstantial,” Dean said, fists resting on his hips. “But I think if we all work together, we might get to the bottom of this.”

Ed jerked his head up, a smile splitting his face at the same time Harry’s mouth dropped open. “You mean it?” Ed asked. “You’re going to help us?”

“You actually believe us?” Harry asked, looking like even he didn’t believe his own story.

“You guys are amateurs that’s true,” Dean said. “But a strong instinct is often more useful in an investigation than actual clues. And I’m willing to bet on your instinct.”

“Holy shit!” Ed turned to Harry, arms open. “We got an FBI agent on our side.”

“Holy shit! We might pull this off,” Harry said, dumbfounded. 

A small smile played at the corner of Dean’s lips. Those two had no idea what they were doing. But a small, risk-free case (that might not even be a case after all) was the perfect opportunity to dip his toes back into the waters of investigating. With Cas working late for his own case, Dean needed something to keep him busy anyway. And no one had to know. No reason for them to lecture him if this turned out to be nothing.

Yeah, this was exactly what Dean had been looking for.

Time to get back in the game.

  
  
  
  



	3. Not A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean go out for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Castiel and the arsons/murder investigation in this chapter. Just a heads-up, that I've once again drowned myself in bangs (who saw that coming?) and the next chapter will probably be a little late. A huge thank you to [ mrs.hays ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrshays/works) and [theimportanceofbeingvictoria ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimportanceofbeingvictoria/pseuds/theimportanceofbeingvictoria) for for being my betas.
> 
> Warnings: barebacking, anal sex and fingering. 
> 
> (If I've missed something let me know and I'll add it)

The persistent sound of dozens of phones ringing at the same time couldn’t be drowned out even in the interrogation room. It was quickly getting on Castiel’s nerves. They needed all the information they could get, he knew that, but after a sleepless night and several hours of Singer stressing the fuck out of them, he really needed some quiet. 

Evidently, so did their witness. The chief’s wife had her arms wrapped around herself, mascara trails still staining her pale cheeks, eyes closed against the onslaught of noise drifting into the room. She was a pretty woman, Castiel guessed, definitely younger-looking than the fifty-nine years her folder betrayed, though black wasn’t her color. 

She sniffled, accepting the tissue Mills offered before she dabbed it carefully under her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice shaky. “I’m ready to continue.”

“I’m sorry that we have to do this today,” Mills answered with a sympathetic smile. Between the two of them, Castiel’s people’s skills were definitely on the rusty side, so he really appreciated being paired with Jody Mills. She was much better at sympathizing with their witnesses and had a naturally warm personality. Castiel on the other hand tended to come across as too cold and distant. Like he had a stick up his ass, Dean often joked. 

“No it’s fine,” the chief’s wife said, shaking her head. “I’d rather get this over with. I want to see the bastard responsible for this behind bars sooner rather than later.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind if we go over your schedule for the day,” Mills said. 

Castiel leafed through the papers to check the interview notes Masters had written for them from when she’d spoken with the wife at the crime scene. 

“Well, Thomas and I had breakfast together like every morning, then I had an appointment at the salon to get my roots done. After that I spent a few hours with my sister, went shopping for a gift—my daughter’s friend just had a baby, you know—and then...then I went back home and I—I found Thomas—you saw how he was. What kind of monster would do something like that?” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. A new wave of tears ran down her cheeks, this time unstoppable. 

While Mills busied herself trying to console the grieving widow, Castiel checked off Masters’ list. It was a perfect match to what the wife had just told them. The hair appointment would be easy to check, and the receipt for the gift placed the wife half an hour away from the crime scene at the estimated time of the murder. They’d have to call her sister to confirm the two women spent the morning together, but he was sure that part of the alibi would prove concrete as well. Unless she had paid someone to do it for her. The murder was without a doubt an execution, and anyone could be behind it at this point. He eyed her carefully. She didn’t strike him as the type, and there was no motive that he could find. He just didn’t think the poor woman bawling her eyes out in front of them had anything to do with her husband’s murder. 

He couldn’t rule it out yet, however. Everyone was still a suspect. 

“Do you know if Thomas had any enemies?” Mills asked, drawing Castiel’s attention back to the interview. 

The wife shook her head. “I don’t know. He was the police chief, I’m sure there were people who didn’t like him, especially with all those arsons lately. Nothing particular comes to mind though.”

“Did you receive any threatening letters?” Castiel asked, hoping he got the sympathetic smile right. 

“No, nothing like that.”

“Anything else you can think of that was out of the ordinary?” he pressed.

“I honestly can’t think of anything.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, ready to drop the subject. The shock was still too fresh. If there was anything worth mentioning she wouldn’t remember it until she had time to process everything. Pushing all the papers back into his folder, he prepared to end the interview.

“Except,” the wife said, cutting him off. She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s important.”

“Everything is important,” Mills reassured her. “Even the tiniest detail.”

“There was this strange car,” she said. “I mean, I see all sorts of cars passing by our street every day but this one, in particular, I saw several times in the past month. Never in front of our house, but always a few blocks away.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “I think I’m just paranoid.”

“Or maybe you’re not. We won’t know until we check,” Castiel said, clicking his pen. “Can you describe that car to me?”

“It was black? I think it was a Honda.”

Great, a black Honda. Not even a model or plates. It wasn’t like one in every three cars out there was a Honda. 

“I noticed it because it had a broken headlight,” she added quickly, and finally they were getting somewhere. Not very far, but somewhere.

“We’ll look into it,” Castiel said, noting everything down. They’d have to send a signal for officers to keep an eye out for a car fitting the description. However unlikely it was that they’d get a match, they had to try. 

“You said you had a daughter?” Mills asked, hands clasped on the table in front of her.

“Yes, Rose. She’s out of town on a business trip, but she’s trying to find tickets back. She hopes she’ll be back by tonight.”

Mills slid her card over. “If she does, can you tell her to give us a call? We’d like to speak to her as well.” 

“I have your number,” the wife mumbled, but she took it nonetheless, worrying the edge of it with her thumb. 

They didn’t have more questions after that, just a few basic ones that were standard procedure. They took a quick five-minute break for some much-needed caffeine to keep them going, then went right back into the room.

“Who’s next?” Mills asked, stretching her back until her spine popped. 

“The chief’s secretary.”

“Alright, let’s bring him in.”

The chief’s secretary was much more collected than the wife. At least he looked like he made an effort when he got out of bed this morning to look presentable. Castiel wondered what would happen with his job now that his boss was dead.

The first half an hour was boring and probably a waste of time, but necessary to make sure their files were complete. Castiel dutifully went down the list of questions, getting the same answers he’d been hearing for the last few hours. 

No, the chief hadn’t looked worried or nervous in the last few days.

He was the chief of police, of course, there were people out there who didn’t like him, no one came to mind in particular.

Ah, yes. The arsons. Terrible affair. Plenty of suspects, not that much evidence. Their files had already been forwarded to the FBI.

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary in the past few days?” Castiel asked, keeping his jaw from yawning by sheer force of determination. “Or maybe months?”

“Only one thing comes to mind,” the secretary said, finally grabbing Castiel’s attention. “A lawyer had an appointment with the chief a few weeks ago. Can’t have been more than a month ago. I’d never seen him before, never saw him again, but the chief took the day off afterward. He seemed upset.”

“Do you remember his name?” Mills asked without missing a beat.

“No, not off the top of my head. I can check my calendar and give you a call if you want?”

Mills gave him a well-rehearsed smile. “We’d appreciate it if we could have your entire calendar, actually. There could be something useful in it.”

“I can send it to you,” the secretary offered. Not eager, not reluctant either. He didn’t look like a man who had something to hide. Still, Castiel watched him carefully. 

“One of our agents will escort you back to retrieve it,” Castiel said, making a mental note to ask Banes to do that. “And one last question. We heard about a car that was seen several times near the house in the past few weeks. A black Honda with a busted headlight. Does that mean anything to you?”

The man tilted his head to the side for a moment, then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells, sorry. I don’t even know what a Honda is supposed to look like; I’m not much of a car guy.”

Dean would have been downright offended at that. Castiel just made a small note. Interviews always were boring, but they were nothing compared to Dean’s bitching when he was forced to sit through them. A big plus of him still being on leave was that Castiel skipped all the bitching. The downside was that Dean was all he could think about.

_ Fuck, focus, Novak! _

***

Castiel watched as Banes escorted the secretary out of the office. Interviews were done for the day, but there was a new (longer) list of names waiting for them tomorrow. At least he wasn't on phone duty—that was Talbot—but he wasn't as lucky as Masters to have spent the whole day at the crime scene with Singer either. 

Now, Castiel wasn't petty. Usually. Today, however, he felt an intense sense of satisfaction as he dropped his notes on Masters’ desk with a thud. She'd have to suffer along with the rest of them in the name of team spirit and everything.

"Oh, Novak, for me? You shouldn't have," she cooed, giving him a smirk that was half-flirty, half-ironic. It was always hard to tell with her.

"I have a job for you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes trailing down his body. "How many layers of clothing does it involve?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "All of them. We got word about a suspicious car in the neighborhood in the past few weeks. I got a signal out but we need to check traffic cameras as well to see if we can get the plates."

"How fun. Thank you for thinking of me," she said all sugary sweet as she picked up the papers like they were covered in shit. "I'll make sure to return the favor."

"Is that a threat?" 

"A promise." She winked at him, blowing a kiss, then rolled her chair closer to her desk to start work.

Meg Masters was a lot of stuff, but she wasn't one to procrastinate. Castiel appreciated that quality of hers, even if she usually found herself walking a very thin line between teasing and harassment. Mills had said Masters was like that with everyone and he shouldn't take it personally.

So he didn't.

"You're still here?" Mills asked him, booting up her own laptop to help Masters. "I thought you said you had plans for lunch today."

Masters raised an eyebrow, her eyes never leaving her screen. "Novak has a date?"

"It's not a date," Castiel said, checking his phone and shit, he was late. "Just seeing a friend who is in town these days."

"Sounds like a date," Masters pointed out.

Castiel grabbed his trench coat and threw it over the crook of his elbow. He'd have time to put it on in the elevator. "Not a date!" 

"Have fun on your date!" Mills chimed in.

Castiel waited for the elevator doors to close behind him. Then he exhaled roughly. God, was he so obvious to everyone? What would he do when Dean was back in the office?

***

The hostess widened her eyes at Castiel when he burst through the door of the restaurant, though Dean, leaning against her stand, seemed amused. 

Conscious of his disheveled look, the excessive panting from running all the way from the office, and his probably flushed face, Castiel ran a hand through his hair. It did little to make him more presentable, but it did give him the time to catch his breath before walking further inside. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he told Dean and nodded in the hostess’s direction.

Dean’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “It’s alright. I just got here myself.” He turned to the hostess with a crooked smile, gesturing at Castiel. “This is Cas. He’s the friend I’ve been waiting for.”

Regaining her composure, the hostess returned Dean’s smile, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’ll get you and your friend a table, then,” she said, stepping past Dean, a hand lingering on his shoulder.

Castiel watched with his teeth clenched as her fingers slid over Dean’s leather jacket. He didn’t miss the way Dean’s lips quirked into a flirty green as he said, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

So much for a date.

_ Not a date! _

“I see you haven’t lost your edge,” Castiel commented under his breath as they followed the hostess to a table. 

“What?” Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow. “She was just keeping me company while I was waiting for you. It’s not my fault you were late.”

“Right. I’m sorry about that. Our new case is not going as well as we would have liked.” Castiel took the seat across from Dean, smoothing his tie self-consciously; the hostess was walking away, hips swaying, and Castiel was thankful that at least Dean wasn’t staring at her. Some of the uneasiness in his chest loosened. 

Visibly perking up at the mention of work, Dean looked up from the menu he’d been scrutinizing up until then. “Care to share?”

“Dean.”

“What? It’s not like anyone will find out you talked to me about your  _ oh-so-confidential _ case. I can keep my mouth shut, you know.”

“It’s not that I doubt your ability to ‘keep your mouth shut,’ it’s about—”

“The principle of the thing, yeah, yada yada, I know. No need to bring out your finger quotes to convince me.” Dean slumped back, a pout forming on his face that tugged at Castiel’s heartstrings. 

Damn, he had it bad.

“Why don’t you ask the others?” Castiel suggested, offering Dean a solution that would at least not put Castiel in an uncomfortable spot. “They were your friends, last time I checked, not just colleagues.” 

“It’s not the same,” Dean said, pout intensifying. “You’re not my friend.”

Right. Castiel was only a booty call. How could he ever forget that? Despite having lost his appetite, Castiel turned all of his attention on the menu. “You know, I’d rather not talk about work right now.”

“Fine,” Dean said. “Let’s talk about something else.” 

Weird. 

Castiel glanced up at Dean. He was sure the chief’s death was all over the news by now, and Dean could probably guess that was the case Singer had taken over. And yet, instead of pressing for details, Dean hummed, letting the silence stretch awkwardly between them. 

Unfortunately, Castiel came up blank as to what to fill it with, so Dean, at last, said: “Do you like sports?”

Sports. Not the deepest of topics, but it was a start. Castiel could get behind that. Anything to diffuse the tension between them. “I like football.”

“Ah, honestly, I’ve never watched a single football game.” Dean winced, though his lips stretched into a playful smile that thoroughly distracted Castiel from any coherent thought. “But I like basketball,” he added, voice rising at the end with a hint of hopefulness.

Realizing this was his cue to answer, Castiel blinked back into the conversation; damn Dean Winchester and his tempting mouth. “Basketball? Oh, there’s this team…” he fumbled for words, racking his brain for anything he knew about basketball. “They have that player… the tall one… he’s very tall.”

Dean snorted. “You know nothing about basketball, do you?”

Castiel felt heat color his cheeks, though a part of him was pleased with the way Dean leaned closer as if their conversation was too private for anyone else to hear. “I know there’s something called the NBA.”

“Look at that! We might still make a basketball fan out of you, after all.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll have beers and homemade burgers, and I’ll even buy you a Bulls’ cap.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Bulls?”

Dean’s smile never faltered. “Because you’re from Chicago? Chicago Bulls? Get it?”

Castiel shook his head. “I guess it might be fun.”

“Totally fun,” Dean reassured him with the kind of sparkle in his eye that made Castiel’s knees weak. Maybe it was worth giving basketball a chance after all. “I promise you.”

“I’ll look forward to it then.”

Their server interrupted them at that point to take their order and get them a couple of beers, and by the time they were alone again, Castiel figured it was as good a time as any. 

“So, in light of recent events, I have something for you.” 

“Are they bee socks?” Dean teased, tongue in cheek.

“No. It’s this.” Castiel slid the key that had been burning a hole in his pocket since yesterday across the table, eyes stuck to the table. He was not going to make a big deal out of this. This was not a big deal.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, eyes narrowing at the key in Castiel’s hand.

Castiel swallowed. “A key to my apartment.”

Dean snapped his head up, finding Castiel’s gaze and catching it. “Really? And you’re giving it to  _ me?” _

“I had my lock changed, and I made an extra copy so you won’t have to break into my apartment again.”

_ Please don’t make me regret this, Winchester. _

Dean bit back a smile. Grabbed the key out of Castiel’s hand and examined it closely. His legs found Castiel’s under the table. “You should thank me. With that old lock, it was only a matter of time before someone robbed you.”

“Thank God, you beat them to it,” Castiel said dryly.

Satisfied, Dean put the key in his pocket. “I know right? I saved you from a lot of problems.”

“Dean Winchester, you are the biggest problem in my life.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Would you say that I’m a pain in the ass?”

Okay. Castiel should have seen that one coming. “Is that the only joke you know?”

Dean shrugged. “Made you smile, didn’t it?” 

“You’re insufferable,” Castiel groaned, pressing his ankle more firmly against Dean’s and reveling in the way Dean never pulled away. This was nice. 

“BBQ chicken sandwich?” the server asked, appearing by their table with their order. 

“That’d be me,” Dean said. 

The server placed the sandwich in front of him, then turned to give Castiel his grilled pork skewers, then the hostess strolled by their table again, glossy lips turned up in a sweet smile. “Everything alright?”

And there went Castiel’s good mood. 

“Everything’s perfect, thank you,” Dean told her, flashing her that irresistible grin that made everyone Dean met swoon. 

“If you need anything you know where to find me,” the hostess said, biting her lip, and Dean’s eyes widened with realization.

He glanced in Castiel’s direction quickly and said, “We’re good,” and then, as she walked away with an exaggerated sway to her hips he made a grimace. “Okay, I didn’t see that coming.”

It took every last bit of self-control for Castiel not to roll his eyes. He cleared his throat instead. “So, how’s Sam? Have you talked recently?”

“Yeah, he’s great. He and Eileen are thinking of getting another puppy to keep Bones company while they’re at work,” Dean answered, diverting his attention to his sandwich. “I told him that he’s gonna end up like a freaky old lady with a dozen dogs if he’s not careful, and then he started his bitching so, you know, the usual.”

He didn’t seem to mind the change of topic, Castiel noticed. He stared at the plate in front of him. With his stomach still tied into a tight knot, he wasn’t sure if he could swallow a single bite. 

Pathetic.

That’s what he was. It wasn’t like he ever expected to be able to keep Dean, so why had he ever dared to hope in the first place? 

***

“Novak, you’re late,” Singer growled as Castiel took his seat again. 

The team was gathered for a briefing, and it was only by sheer luck that Castiel had made it back before it started even though he had no idea Singer was still at the office. He’d thought the Assistant Director would have headed home to get some rest by now, but apparently, Singer was a bigger workaholic than all of them combined. 

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Castiel said, busying himself with fishing inside his briefcase for his notebook. 

Seemingly done with the subject, Singer turned back towards the blackboard, giving Mills the perfect opportunity to bend towards him and catch his eye.

“How did your date go?”

Right next to him, Masters snorted. “Please, his bad mood has been stinking up the place from the moment he stepped through that door. How do you think it went?”

“Not that it was a date, but it’s still none of your business,” Castiel hissed. “Now keep quiet.” 

Singer had been keeping a closer eye on Castiel since the Tri-Murder case, and he didn’t want to give his boss an excuse to chew him out again. Whispering behind Singer’s back like they were school children would definitely land him with endless piles of paperwork on his desk for the foreseeable future. 

“Alright everyone, I know you’re all tired, but this is a big case and we need to stay focused. We have been plagued by phone calls all day, both from the media and civilians claiming to have information, as I’m sure a lot of you know. I’ve decided to hold a press conference tonight and address the police chief’s death. We already have people working on getting that ready, but I’ll need two of you with me. I’ve decided on Masters and Talbot since the two of you were the first at the scene.”

Talbot visibly deflated, and though Masters’ expression remained dutifully unchanged, Castiel felt her tense up. He, on the other hand, sighed a breath of relief. He hated press conferences with a passion, and holding one after two long days of work was going to be exhausting. He didn’t envy Masters and Talbot one bit.

“The rest of you will be free to go home and get some rest,” Singer continued. “But first let’s all do a summary of everything we’ve been able to find out until now.”

“Novak and I found out that a lawyer visited the police chief a few weeks before his death,” Mills started, passing Singer the relevant paper with a summary of the secretary’s interview.

“I actually managed to track down said lawyer,” Banes jumped in, rising from his seat. With a few taps on his laptop, he sent a picture to the screen mounted on the wall. He pointed at the photo of a man in his late thirties, with dirty blond hair and light blue eyes. “This is Brady Johnson, owner of  _ Johnson and Associates _ . He took over his father’s law firm the moment he graduated from Stanford and has been involved with several high profile cases and shady stuff since then. Never lost a case to this day.”

“Do we know what he wanted with the chief?” Talbot asked, squinting at the screen. 

“Not yet,” Banes admitted with a wince. “But I’ve made an appointment for him to come down here for an interview at the end of the week. His secretary very politely informed me when I called that Mr. Johnson is currently out of town on business.”

Singer nodded satisfied. “Good work, Banes. You can take over his interview when he shows up. You can also choose which one of your colleagues will be there to help you.”

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that pretty much the whole room cowered back. Not more interviews.

Blind to everyone’s reaction, Singer gestured for Banes to sit down again. “Alright, what else do we have?”

It was Talbot’s turn to clear her throat. “I’ve talked with the coroner. We should have the final autopsy results tomorrow morning, and our forensics team is still working hard on examining all the evidence from the crime scene. We’ll have a report on the bullet first thing tomorrow as well, though so far the only fingerprint that we’ve managed to recover is a partial so small it’s pretty much useless.”

“We always assumed we were dealing with a hired killer,” Singer said grimly. “I’m surprised you even found that partial fingerprint. Keep looking into it though.”

“Yes, sir,” Talbot said. 

This time, Singer turned to Castiel. “Alright, Novak. Do you have something for me?”

Castiel shuffled through his notes until he found the paper he was looking for. “The wife told us about a suspicious car she’d seen several times around the neighborhood. It was a black Honda with a busted headlight. We’ve sent a signal out for officers to be on the lookout for a car fitting that description.”

“Actually,” Masters cut him off. “I compared that description to the tips we got today. One of the people who called, a lovely old lady who owns a flower shop three blocks away from our crime scene, called in a suspicious car parked in front of her shop every day for the last month or so. No one ever checked it out, and she didn’t think to keep the plate number, but she’ll be coming in for an interview tomorrow, and I’ve also requested all security tapes from that spot to be sent to us. Hopefully, something has been caught on tape.”

“‘Hopefully’ is not good enough in a murder investigation, Masters,” Singer answered, never one to hand out praise easily. “Now, is there anything else one of you would like to add?”

He waited while the room watched him in silence.

Castiel would have been embarrassed for all of them had he not seen first hand how clean the crime scene had been. There just wasn’t enough evidence for them to work with. If he was being honest, it was a miracle they had two leads, to begin with. 

“No other contributions to this conversation? Okay. Let’s talk about our working theory then. I think we’ve already established that there has to be a connection between the arsons and the murder. We just have to find proof of it.”

“Like Novak pointed out before we had to rush to the crime scene, we may have a pattern of the businesses being in some kind of trouble with the law before they ended up in flames,” Banes said, gesturing for Castiel to take it from there.

“Calling it a pattern might be a bit presumptive at this point, but two restaurants did close down after drugs were discovered on the premises. We think they may have been planted there to cause the restaurants to close down on purpose,” Castiel said. “And I actually went back and looked over all the files again last night. Other than the two restaurants with the drug charges, there was also another that filed an insurance claim for a busted window due to vandalism, and two more were robbed in the last year. I didn’t think anything of those incidents at first, but with the new turn this case has taken…”

“Damn, but that sounds a lot like…” Mills started, only for Talbot to cut her off.

“Like the mob bullying restaurant owners into buying protection.”

Banes nodded. “Except none of the restaurant owners has come forward to press any charges. Not even for the arsons.”

“If they are being blackmailed and threatened I doubt they’d point fingers,” Castiel said, rubbing a hand down his face. “They’ve already lost their business, they won’t risk their lives.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Masters said. “Sure, we’ve never had a strong mob presence in DC, but we had  _ something. _ And this, the arsons, the blackmailing, it’s not the usual criminal organization one finds here. This is new. It’s bold. Like someone trying to invade the city and set up a new order of things. If we noticed, then surely others noticed as well. Where are the turf wars? Where are the murders of lackeys from opposing sides?”

“Maybe they cleaned it up,” Castiel said. Whoever  _ they _ were. “It’s called organized crime for a reason. I imagine drawing police attention to them is not good business.”

“Maybe they took care of the old organization before they started moving in to take their place,” Talbot offered. When she noticed everyone staring at her, she shrugged. “It’s what I would do.”

“Still, we’d have heard  _ something _ if criminal bosses were ending up dead out of the blue,” Banes said. 

“What if they’re not dead?” Mills asked. “What if this new ‘team’ moving in is so strong that the old ones knew they had to submit or be destroyed. Not all fish are eaten by sharks, some actually form symbiotic relationships with them.”

“I can’t believe we’re comparing the mob to sharks and fish,” Masters groaned, throwing her head back. “This is so cliche and boring.”

“Cliche analogies ignored,” Bobby said and gave Masters a warning look. “What Mills said makes sense. It’s actually the best theory I’ve heard so far in this room. This of course means that the new team trying to take over the city has someone bigger behind them to back them up. We’ll have to be extra careful with how we handle this case from now on.”

“Oh yeah because it was a walk in the park before,” Banes joked, ignoring the way Singer burned holes through his back with his glare. 

“If all of you would concentrate for a moment,” Singer growled, eyes scanning the whole room. “I’d like to finish this meeting so I can assign each of you your tasks for tomorrow. I have an interview to prepare for in case you forgot about it.”

And they had homes to get back to, which they were really desperate to do after pulling an all-nighter at work. Yeah, Castiel did not envy Talbot and Masters at all! The promise of being excused soon in the back of his mind, he ducked his head, and started taking notes of everything Singer was saying.

It was only a couple of hours later—much later than he’d thought—that Singer let them go. 

Εvery single bone in his body, from his shoulder blades down to the tiny phalanges in his feet, was creaking in protest after spending so many hours sitting. Alas, he didn’t have the energy to hit the gym or even stretch at home. He barely had the energy to walk as it was. 

“Novak, wait,” Masters called as everyone shuffled out of the room.

Castiel turned to her, willing his face to be as friendly as possible. Just because he was tired didn’t mean he had to be an asshole to his colleagues.

She stepped closer, a hesitation to her movement that caught Castiel by surprise. “You know I was only teasing you, right? About the date thing.”

“Oh.” Castiel paused. Honestly, he had forgotten about her comment. “Of course. Don’t worry about it.”

“Just making sure. Sometimes I can be a bit… intense,” Masters said, raising an eyebrow as if Castiel should have known what she meant.

He didn’t.

“I’m good, Masters. As I said, don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, no last names,” Masters said, slapping his shoulder. “We’re off the clock now. You can call me, Meg.”

“Meg,” Castiel repeated. The name felt weird on his tongue. It’d take him a while to get used to this change. 

“Excellent!” Meg wrapped her hands around his arm, pulling him along as she walked towards the elevator with a 180-degree change to her demeanor. “And since we’re friends now and all that sentimental crap, how about you and I go for a drink, and I can lend you my shoulder while you tell me all about your not-date?”

Castiel almost walked into a chair. 

Meg, to her credit, didn’t laugh. She just kept pulling him along.

“I, uh… I don’t know,” Castiel finally managed to say, just as the elevator doors opened in front of them. “I’m exhausted. I’d like to go home and get some rest if I’m being honest. Besides you have the interview.”

“Boo, you’re boring,” Meg sighed, pouting, and led the way inside. “And here I was hoping I’d make you my new drinking buddy and have you help me skip that interview.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Dean would have known. Because Dean was good with people, and he always knew what to say. At last, Castiel said, “Raincheck?”

“Clarence, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Meg waved a warning finger in front of Castiel’s face, her other hand still firmly wrapped around Castiel’s bicep.

“My name’s not—”

“I know what your name is, obviously. But you’re not a Castiel. You’re a Clarence.”

Castiel blinked at her. He felt they were having two completely different conversations here. “What’s a Clarence?”

“What’s a—Christ, it’s times like this I miss Winchester. At least he gets my jokes.”

Castiel opened and closed his mouth. How long was the elevator ride to the ground floor?

_ Ding! _

Perfect timing. The elevator doors slid open noiselessly to let them out.

Castiel cleared his throat, a hand coming up to fidget with the collar of his shirt. “It was lovely talking with you, Mast—Meg, but I should head home now.”

“Yeah, yeah, you go home and enjoy your night, I’ll deal with all the media crap Singer wants to throw at us,” she said, huffing. 

For a moment, Castiel felt sorry for her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Oh sure. Another day of paperwork and research. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she replied dryly. 

They were now almost at the door. Castiel would head home and Meg… Meg would head back upstairs to freshen up in a bathroom before the interview probably. As if reading his thoughts, Meg patted his arm and let him go.

“Don’t let me keep you, Clarence,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I hope the interview doesn’t take too long,” Castiel told her, trying to be sympathetic. 

“You and me both,” she said, turning her eyes to the ceiling as if willing someone to hear her and grant her wish. “Now get out of here before I have the chance to convince Singer to make you attend that interview instead of me. Oh, and by the way,” she added just as Castiel was turning to leave. “If you happen to speak with Winchester, don’t tell him I said I miss him. I have a reputation to maintain.”

The beginning of a smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

With one last wink over her shoulder, Meg marched back inside. 

***

Castiel’s couch was heavenly. So comfy. So perfect. Exactly what he needed. Why had he never appreciated it before? Sure, he knew it was a good couch, but he’d never realized it was  _ this _ good. Or maybe he was so tired that even a bed made of rocks would feel like heaven as long as he was horizontal. 

Either way, when his phone started ringing on the kitchen counter, a whole six feet from where he was currently lying unable, and unwilling, to get up and answer it, Castiel didn’t move. Whoever it was could wait.

Or not. As it quickly became evident by the sound of keys in his door the moment his phone stopped ringing.

“Shit, you look awful,” Dean commented, letting himself inside with the key Castiel gave him earlier. 

At least Castiel was too tired to consider how  _ normal _ and  _ domestic _ that scene was and how much he  _ wanted _ to have that with Dean. The thought, of course, occurred to him, but it was overshadowed by the exhaustion spread heavy like a blanket over his entire body and stopping his brain from thinking of anything else but how soft the couch pillow under his cheek was. 

Dean kept his eyes on Castiel even as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. A shame, because Dean looked really good in his leather jacket. It accentuated the breadth of his shoulders so well, Castiel sometimes had trouble stringing a single coherent thought together while staring at Dean in it. Kinda like he was doing now.

Ah, shit.

With a frustrated groan, Castiel buried his face in the pillow. 

“Long day?” Dean guessed.

“You have no idea.” Then, just because he couldn’t breathe properly and totally not because he wanted to keep staring at Dean, Castiel turned to face him again and for the first time took him in properly. “You look better, though.”

Pushing Castiel’s legs back so he could sit perched on the edge of the couch next to him, Dean shrugged. “I feel better.”

“Did therapy go well?” 

In response Dean, pressed as he was against Castiel’s knees and thighs, went stiff, and Castiel was quick to backtrack. “It’s none of my business, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m just glad to see you…” 

Words failed him because there wasn’t something specific about Dean that had changed that he could put his finger on. It was everything maybe. From the way he was standing to the easy line of his mouth. 

Dean, once again, shrugged. “I’m allowed to be in a good mood, aren’t I?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, searching his face. He really did look like he was in a good mood. “No, it’s good. This is good. I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I know how Bobby can get when he’s under pressure. I bet he’s pushing y’all to your limits, isn’t he?”

Castiel was not fond of badmouthing his higher-ups, especially when said higher-ups were his (friend’s? fuckbuddy’s?) colleague’s sort-of uncle. But the answer was probably painted all over his face because Dean laughed. 

“Man, don’t let him walk all over you. He’ll appreciate it more if you actually stand up to him, you know? Not that I’m telling you to be lazy,” Dean was quick to add at Castiel’s arched eyebrow. “Just don’t let him kill you with paperwork.”

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Castiel sighed. “It can’t be helped. This is a—”

“A big case. Yeah, yeah, I hear you. You said that at lunch, too, remember?” Dean patted Castiel on the stomach lightly. “Which, if I remember correctly you barely touched.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Castiel mumbled, glad that his arms over his eyes were the perfect excuse to avoid making eye contact with Dean. It wasn’t like he could tell Dean his appetite had disappeared because of a flirty hostess. No, Castiel wouldn’t admit that on his own deathbed. It was too much. Too close to his true feelings to ever say out loud. 

Unfortunately for him, his stomach decided to call out his lie, rumbling loud enough to wake the dead. 

“Well, fuck me, Cas, but it sounds like you’re starving,” Dean said, gently moving Castiel’s arm away from his face. The light was too bright, almost blinding, but not as bright as Dean’s teasing grin. “Did you have anything after our lunch?”

Castiel pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “I had coffee.”

“Did you have anything  _ solid _ ?”

“No,” Castiel admitted half-heartedly. 

“Alright, big guy. Get up,” Dean ordered, pushing himself up and pulling Castiel along with him despite Castiel’s very loud protests. “You’re filthy and malnourished. Get in the shower, and I’ll see if I can find anything in your offensively-empty fridge for dinner. How does that sound?”

“Like too much trouble,” Castiel said, glaring at Dean for shoving him towards the bedroom door. 

“Shucks because you don’t have a choice but to do what I say,” Dean said, giving Castiel one last push. 

“Or I could just kick you out,” Castiel replied, though they both knew he wasn’t going to do that. Dean was already going through Castiel’s cabinets, and Castiel really was hungry, so he was going to compromise and get himself into the shower in exchange for a hot meal that required zero effort from him to prepare. 

***

Okay, so maybe Dean was right and Castiel had needed that shower. He felt refreshed, clean, and somewhat less exhausted than before, a towel wrapped around his middle as he tried to rub the moisture out of his hair with another. Not that he would ever tell Dean that. The guy had a big enough head on him already, there was no reason for Castiel to go and make it worse. 

Speaking of Dean, not that it was often he wasn’t in Castiel’s thoughts these days, a delicious smell was coming from the kitchen, and one thing Castiel  _ could _ admit Dean had every right to brag about was his cooking skills. Castiel himself only cooked when necessary and never anything as fancy as the meals Dean prepared for fun. Cooking, to him, was a survival skill, for Dean, it was a hobby, a ritual almost, always accompanied by his favorite rock songs and whatever semi-ridiculous (but so endearing Castiel melted in a puddle every single time) dance move he came up with on the spot to accompany it. 

Today’s dance move was… was that supposed to be an electric guitar? Castiel hovered by his bedroom door, hair still dripping despite his best efforts, watching Dean fake a guitar solo with the help of a wooden spoon, which Castiel hadn’t even known he owned, head bobbing to the rhythm, lips moving silently along with the song.

Again, ridiculous.

But fondness warmed him to his core. 

Or maybe it wasn’t  _ just _ fondness, Castiel observed as his eyes fell to Dean’s ass, deliciously accentuated by his tight jeans. Dean had also procured a white apron seemingly out of thin air, the strings of it tied in a little bow around his waist that had managed to get tangled with the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, pulling it up to reveal the thinnest, barest sliver of skin. 

Zeroing in on that tiny stripe of exposed, freckled skin, Castiel stepped closer. He couldn’t stop it. Dean was too magnetic, too beautiful, and Castiel was doomed to always be pulled close, like a moth to the flame. 

Dean flinched a little when Castiel slid his arms around his waist but soon relaxed back against Castiel, cocking his head to the side to make space for Castiel to hook his jaw over his shoulder. “Shit, Cas, I didn’t hear you coming out of the shower. I have to put a bell on you or something.”

“It smells really good,” Castiel said, nose pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck. He could feel Dean beaming with pride, pressing his back harder against Castiel’s chest.

“Despite your revulsion against anything fresh, I did manage to find enough ingredients to make pasta.”

“I wasn’t talking about the food,” Castiel said, rolling his hips up against Dean’s ass, the friction so good it made him whimper. 

“Cas, I’m cooking,” Dean complained, though his body was telling a completely different story, back arched, ass presented for Castiel to grind up against desperately, futilely, not nearly enough.

Palm splayed over Dean’s stomach, Castiel dragged his hand up his chest and neck to cup his jaw and move his head out of the way so he could suck a mark under his ear. With the other, he untied the apron. “How long until it’s ready?” he asked, voice low and demanding.

Dean shivered. “Uh, the tomato sauce needs to simmer for five minutes or so on low—Jesus Christ, Cas!”

“Yes?” Castiel asked, feigning innocence despite the hand he had down the front of Dean’s jeans.

“You’re very distracting,” Dean said hoarsely.

Castiel pressed his palm over Dean’s half-hard dick, his own blood heating close to boiling in response. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“Fuck no,” Dean breathed, head falling back against Castiel’s shoulder as soon as Castiel had pulled the apron off him. “Please don’t stop.”

Now that was exactly the answer he was expecting. 

Castiel hummed, letting his fingertips drag over Dean’s length, enjoying every muffled noise even that little bit of contact dragged out of Dean, sending a spark down his own spine, making his ears ring. Jeans and boxers shoved down Dean’s thighs and towel thrown to the floor, Castiel turned them away from the stove and bent Dean across the opposite counter, his hand never stopped pulling and twisting Dean’s thick cock as he draped himself over his back, pressing open-mouthed kisses on every inch of skin he could find, behind his ear, the side of his neck, the back, right over the hem of his t-shirt—and how annoying that Dean still had his t-shirt on. Castiel rectified that immediately, yanking it up and over Dean’s head.

Dean exhaled roughly, something close to a laugh, dick throbbing in Castiel’s fingers. “God, it’s so hot when you manhandle me.”

“Remind me to do it more often then,” Castiel growled and proceeded to suck on his pulse, making Dean buck wildly forward and into Castiel’s fist, a broken curse falling from his lips. 

“Babe, not that I’m not enjoying this, but I need your cock in me yesterday.”

Grinding up, Castiel groaned. “Then we better move things to the bedroom.” His aching cock twitched with anticipation, pressing insistently between Dean’s asscheeks to underline his words, his  _ need _ to be buried inside Dean as soon as possible.

“No time,” Dean said, a hand darting forward to find his wallet discarded on the counter. He tossed a packet of lube back to Castiel and flashed him a mischievous grin that made Castiel want to pound into him hard enough to wipe it off his face; now  _ that _ was a thought. “Come on, I can’t wait.”

“Condom?” Castiel asked, pouring a generous amount of lube over his fingers despite Dean’s protests for his now lonely dick. 

“We don’t—oh, shit, yeah. God, I love your fingers inside me,” Dean groaned, head dropped down on the counter as Castiel worked him slowly and methodically open, eyes trained to the side of Dean’s face, watching his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. “Fuck, that’s good, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Dean, condom,” Castiel insisted, crooking his fingers on purpose to find that spot that always made Dean scream, his other hand white-knuckled on his hip to stop himself from just ramming right into Dean then and there. 

“Fuck, Cas, we don’t need it,” Dean moaned pressing back to guide Castiel’s fingers deeper. 

Castiel’s breath hitched, his rhythm stuttering. “What?”

“We get tested all the time for the bureau, and I know I’m clean. Are you?” Dean frowned back at him, eyes glazed over with want and heat, the green nothing more but a thin halo around his pupil. 

Castiel’s knees went a little weak, his mouth working around words he couldn’t produce. 

Dean, clearly reading this wrong, stilled. “Hey, buddy, this would be a nice moment for a clear answer, considering I’ve been blowing you without a condom for weeks.”

“Oh. No, I’m good to go,” Castiel rushed to say, grabbing Dean’s wrist to stop him from pulling his jeans back up. “No, my tests were all good, I’m—I—I can—”

It was safe to say his mind had come to a screeching halt. What was it that Dean was asking here? Surely not what Castiel was suspecting. Never what Castiel was suspecting. Dean wasn’t like that. Their relationship—and, fuck, it didn’t actually cross the bar to be an actual  _ relationship _ —wasn’t like that. Dean didn’t mean… he couldn’t… could he?

Unaware of Castiel’s internal breakdown, Dean grinned, bright and wide, and it was almost like the whole room was illuminated with it. Castiel was hopeless against it. 

“Okay then,” Dean said, spinning to face him, hand sliding on the back of Castiel’s neck to slam their mouths together, their bodies pressed together again but this time Castiel could feel Dean’s erection against his thigh, could feel Dean thrusting against him, could taste the eagerness in the way Dean licked his way into his mouth. 

How Dean ended up sitting on the counter, pulling Castiel between his legs, a thigh hooked over his hip was a blur, lost to the way Dean was kissing him senseless. Castiel’s entire body was singing, yearning,  _ needing, _ all the new possibilities stretching before him, tantalizing and so close he could almost reach them. He wanted to taste Dean, taste his come on his tongue, wanted so much, but Dean was already pulling him in, using his hold on the counter to sink down on Castiel’s cock with a shaky exhale and a small, satisfied smile and Castiel was gone on him. Desperately. Hopelessly. Unquestionably.

Whatever blood he had left circulating his body rushed to his head, making him dizzy. Castiel stumbled forward, the hand not wrapped around Dean’s waist finding the counter to keep him up, keep them both up, as he pounded into Dean, again and again, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, louder than the gasped breaths they could manage in the few seconds their mouths parted for oxygen before diving back in with renewed fervor.

“Cas, I need, I need you to, shit,” Dean groaned, breaking away to pant against Castiel’s temple.

“Tell me,” Castiel said, begged, his hold on Dean tightening. He didn’t care what Dean was going to ask for. He was going to give it to him. Even if Dean asked for someone’s head served on a silver platter, seeing him like this, gorgeously flushed, dick curving upward, slapping against his abs in time with Castiel’s thrusts, eyes dark and glassy, Castiel would give him everything. 

“Touch me,” Dean breathed out, and Castiel could do nothing else but comply. 

He took Dean’s cock in hand, jacking him, unable to look away as Dean’s hips fought helplessly to lift into Castiel’s hand then sink back down onto his dick while perched on the edge of the counter. Castiel shifted forward to help him, changing the angle and making Dean cry out.

“Fuck, Cas, don’t stop, don’t stop, yeah, right there,” Dean mumbled, his words almost incoherent as he fisted his hand in Castiel’s hair, pulling, his own head thrown back, the long line of his neck exposed, dick twitching and spilling all over Castiel’s fingers and Dean’s stomach.

Tension coiled low in his groin, Castiel buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, fucked him harder, deeper, faster, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. His whole body was thrumming, trembling, aching. So close. So close. 

“Come on, babe, fill me up,” Dean groaned, and that was it.

With a stutter to his rhythm and a final balls-deep thrust, the world exploded behind Castiel’s eyelids, the breath caught at his throat, mind going blank as he spilled inside Dean. 

For a long, complacent moment, everything was static. And warm. And rumbling.

No, wait. That was Dean. Dean, who was raking his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his chest vibrating against Castiel’s skin as he whispered something into Castiel’s ear that made him laugh. It took all of Castiel’s strength to pull himself out of his blissed-out stupor and not fall asleep standing—well,  _ leaning  _ against almost two hundred pounds of loose and content not-boyfriend. 

That thought soured his mood somewhat, and finally, he pulled away, spent dick slipping out of Dean’s used, and sensitive judging by his reaction, hole. “What?”

Dean laughed again, his eyes soft as he brushed his knuckles down Castiel’s cheek. “I said,  _ that good, huh?” _

Good?

Good didn’t even begin to describe what Castiel had just experienced. He’d never be able to look at Dean again without his chest threatening to cave into a bottomless pit of longing. 

Which was why Dean would never,  _ could _ never, know how he made Castiel feel. If he ever found out, he’d surely pat Castiel on the shoulder, eyes filled with understanding because he was Dean Winchester and everyone fell in love with Dean Winchester so really it wasn’t poor Castiel’s fault that he did, too, shit happens, but hey, Dean wasn’t like that. Dean wasn’t looking for commitment. Dean only wanted fun, and the moment feelings got involved, things stopped being fun.

No, Castiel was alone in his suffering. 

“Can you smell something burning?” Dean asked as he jumped off the counter with a curse, slashing right through Castiel’s thoughts. “Great!” He turned to Castiel, holding up a pan with the blackened remains of what used to be tomato sauce. “Dinner’s ruined.”

Castiel exhaled roughly, still very much shaken to the core, and leaned back against the counter, looking for some support. “We can always order a pizza,” he offered weakly.

Dean shook his head from side to side as if he was considering that, then grinned. “I like that plan,” he said, tossing the pan into the sink and removing the boiling water from the gas. Then, with a wince, he turned to Castiel. “Can you order a pepperoni for me? I really need to shower.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied, mind still reeling. He watched Dean walk away, stomach twisting, chest tightening. 

He was ruined. Utterly. Undeniably. Irrevocably. Ruined.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And that's it for the first chapter! I've never posted a WIP before, so I'm kinda nervous but also excited. Let me know what you though in the comments below. To see what else I'm working on (there's a 90K witch/familiar AU coming your way in the next few days) you can also find me on [tumblr.](https://kitmistry.tumblr.com)


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